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THE   FAIR  MAID   OF   GRAYSTONES 


THE   FAIR  MAID   OF 
GRAYSTONES 


BY 


BEULAH   MARIE  DIX 

▲UTHOB  OF  "  THE  MAKJNO  OF  CHRISTOPHER  FERRINGHAM," 
"BLOUNT  OF  BBBCKBNHOW,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1905, 
By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  September,  1905.      Reprinted 
October,  December,  1905;  February,  1907. 


NottDOolJ  Ifixti* 

J.  8.  ensiling  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smitb  Co. 

Korwood,  Maas.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

OHAPTXR  PAGE 

I.    The  Sweets  of  Victory 1 

II.    Out  of  the  Frying-pan 10 

III.  Into  the  Fire 22 

IV.  A  Stranger  in  a  Strange  Land          ...  33 
V.    By  Credible  Testimony 43 

VI.    Visited  in  Prison 53 

VII.  From  an  Attic  Window         ,        ....  63 

VIII.    Night  Wanderer 75 

IX.    Each  to  his  Own 84 

X.  Interlude  of  the  Parson's  Pasty      ...  96 

XI.    The  Under  Dog 114 

Xn.    A  Guest  Unlocked  For 126 

XIII.  Himself  Again 188 

XIV.  The  Latter  End  of  Joy 150 

XV.  Springes  to  catch  Woodcocks     ....  162 

XVI.  They  that  tell  no  Tales     »        .        .        .        .  175 

XVII.  In  the  Place  of  Desolation        ....  186 

XVIII.  Passage  Perilous     .......  199 

XIX.    Two  AND  A  Bargain 209 

XX.    Mercy  of  the  Heyrouns 222 

XXI.    Day  of  Reckoning 235 

T 


vi  CONTENTS 

OHAFTER  PAOI 

XXII.  The  Breaking  op  the  Bridecake        .        .        .  249 

XXIII.  At  the  Ebb 263 

XXIV.  A  Voice  from  the  Dark 275 

XXV.  The  League  of  the  Unlikely      ....  288 

XXVL  The  Humors  of  the  Deceased  Heyroun  .        .  301 

XXVII.  The  Humor  of  the  Living  Hetherington        .  313 

XXVIIL  By  Right  of  his  Wife 324 

XXIX.  The  Last  Returning 341 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 


t 


THE  FAIE  MAID  OF  GEATSTONES 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  SWEETS  OF  VICTOEY 

In  the  nave  of  St.  Andrew's  church  two  men  were  mauHng 
each  other  zealously,  while  near  threescore  of  tatterdemalions 
cheered  them  on.  The  time  was  verging  toward  one  o'clock  of 
a  breathless  August  day,  and  in  the  church  the  air  was  lifeless 
and  heavy  with  heat.  Although  the  windows,  shattered  by 
Roundhead  bullets  or  fanatic  stones,  gave  free  passage  to 
whatever  breezes  were  abroad  in  the  town  of  Colchester,  no 
stir  of  wind  came  through.  Instead,  long  shafts  of  sunlight, 
tinged  blue  or  red  from  the  glass  fragments  of  angel's  robe  or 
martyr's  flame  that  still  clung  to  the  ravaged  casings,  smote 
full  and  strong  into  the  heavy  dusk  of  what  once  had  been  a 
holy  place. 

Not  eight  and  forty  hours  before  St.  Andrew's  had  been 
a  parish  church,  as  it  had  been  for  near  two  centuries,  with 
carven  stalls  and  well-wrought  altar  screen,  with  worn  old 
mural  tablets,  half  seen  in  the  gloom  of  the  quiet  chancel,  and 
a  glory  of  painted  windows  that  caught  and  prisoned  the  colors 
of  the  sunlight.  Now,  sharing  the  fortunes  of  the  fallen  town, 
St.  Andrew's  was  become  a  prison.  The  stalls  and  the  altar 
screen  had  been  rudely  hacked  from  their  place,  the  windows 
had  been  shattered,  and  the  mural  tablets,  defaced  and  dis- 
honored, had  looked  on  sordid  basenesses  alike  of  victor  and 
of  vanquished.  Grim  sights  those  ancient  tablets  had  seen  in 
these  last  hours,  and  now  they  looked  upon  a  grimmer  sight 

B  1 


2  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

than  any,  —  two  men,  a  guard  and  a  prisoner,  fighting  for 
very  Ufe  up  and  down  the  echoing  nave,  even  to  the  foot  of 
the  desecrated  altar. 

The  guard  was  a  bull-necked  musketeer  of  the  Parliament, 
with  good  shoulders,  somewhat  cramped  in  action  by  the  close- 
fitted  buff  coat  that  he  wore,  and  a  powerful  sweep  of  the  arms. 
The  prisoner  was  a  well-knit,  slender  young  trooper  of  the 
king,  gray-eyed  and  dark-haired,  with  a  hawklike  profile.  He 
had  had  the  foresight,  at  the  outset,  to  cast  off  his  boots  and 
his  doublet,  and  he  fought  in  light  array,  exceeding  light,  to  be 
truthful,  for  he  wore  a  shirt  that  hung  in  rags.  In  the  matter 
of  weight  he  had  the  disadvantage,  but  in  the  matter  of  agility 
he  bettered  his  antagonist  by  long  odds.  Both  men  alike 
fought  with  a  primitive  disregard  of  rules  —  gouging,  clench- 
ing, striking  below  the  belt.  They  fought  to  kill  or  to  cripple, 
and  with  such  charitable  end  in  view  their  friends  tarred 
them  on. 

"Lam  him,  Jock,  for  Heaven's  love!"  bawled  one  di- 
shevelled gentleman,  with  half  a  coat  to  his  back. 

"Trip  up  his  heels !  'Sprecious,  trip  up  his  heels,  ye  fool !" 
shouted  another,  who  wore  a  bloody  clout  upon  his  head; 
while  a  lad  in  the  rearmost  rank,  almost  weeping  because  of 
his  inconvenient  lack  of  inches,  and  pulling  himself  up  perforce 
by  the  shoulders  of  the  men  in  front  of  him,  alternately  cursed 
them  and  blessed  the  champion.  "Make  him  smoke  for't, 
Jock!"  his  high-pitched  young  voice  pierced  through  the 
shouting.     "We'll  learn  him  to  kick  a  man  that's  down!" 

With  no  less  heartiness  the  encouragements  of  the  Round- 
head soldiers  on  guard  rolled  out  to  their  comrade,  "  Smite  the 
Philistine,  Faintnot  Pedock  I" 

"  Now,  now  I  Press  your  vantage !  You  have  him  on  the 
hip!" 

Closer  and  closer  the  guards  crowded  round  the  combatants. 
The  very  sentinel  at  the  door,  where  the  sunlight  slanted  on 


THE  SWEETS  OF  VICTOKY  3 

the  green  turf,  had  stolen  into  the  hot  gloom  of  the  church. 
Long  since  the  soldiery,  angered  that  even  for  a  moment  the 
ungodly  thus  should  prosper,  would  have  broken  in  and  made 
a  summary  end  of  the  fight,  had  it  not  been  for  the  sergeant 
who  commanded  them.  In  unregenerate  days,  ere  king  and 
Parliament  had  gone  to  hand-grips,  this  sergeant  had  been  a 
mighty  man  to  wrestle  and  buffet  at  fairs  and  wakes,  and  on 
this  hot  August  noon  in  St.  Andrew's  church  he  was  backslid- 
ing swiftly.  He  stood  in  the  foremost  rank  of  the  spectators, 
side  by  side  with  the  prisoner  that  had  his  head  in  bandages, 
and  with  an  impartial  sweep  of  his  long  arms  he  thrust  back 
all  who  would  have  parted  the  combatants.  His  eyes  were 
bright,  and  he  licked  his  lips  softly  and  contentedly,  but  for 
very  enjoyment  he  said  no  word. 

Of  the  threescore  and  odd  men  in  St.  Andrew's  church, 
guards  and  prisoners,  wounded  men  and  whole,  but  two,  for 
differing  reasons,  emulated  the  sergeant  by  keeping  silent. 
One  was  a  half-stripped  prisoner  who  lay,  with  face  hidden, 
on  the  pavement  by  the  southern  wall.  He  had  been  dying 
tediously,  but  comparatively  without  pain,  till  a  gratuitous 
kick  from  the  guard  called  Faintnot  Pedock  had  brought  pain, 
and  upon  it  unconsciousness.  The  other  silent  man  was  Jock 
himself,  the  fighter,  who  had  no  breath  to  waste  in  vain 
speeches.  With  nostrils  wide,  and  lips  set  in  a  thin  line,  he 
fought  to  guard  his  own  head  and  to  avenge  the  man  that  had 
been  kicked.  He  did  not  know  which  one  of  his  half-dozen 
wounded  comrades  was  the  sufferer.  He  had  not  stopped 
to  find  out.  He  had  seen  the  kick  given;  and  from  that 
moment  he  had  seen  scarlet  clouds  till  he  had  heard  his  first 
blow  crash  upon  the  face  of  the  guard. 

Now  Jock  no  longer  saw  scarlet.  He  saw  the  brutish  face  of 
the  man  that  he  meant  to  kill.  He  was  aware  of  the  streaks 
of  gloom  and  of  powdery  sunlight  that  cut  through  the  church, 
as  he  retreated  or  pressed  his  advantage  up  or  down  the  echo- 


4  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

ing  nave.  He  was  aware  of  the  faces  and  faces  about  him, 
and  once  he  saw  distinctly,  leaping  out  from  the  mass,  the 
face  of  the  man  with  the  torn  coat,  Verney  Claybourne,  a  good 
friend  of  his. 

"Play  him,  Jock!  Play  him  I"  Verney  was  bawling. 
"He's  nigh  winded!" 

Jock  did  not  need  to  have  Verney  tell  him  of  a  result 
which  he  had  labored  for  and  now  saw  achieved.  By 
sight  and  by  hearing  he  already  knew  that  Faintnot  Pedock's 
breath  was  failing  fast,  and  he  knew  that  for  his  own  safety 
this  relief  came  not  a  moment  too  soon.  He  had  gained  his 
second  wind,  but  he  was  tired,  almost  dizzy  with  weariness, 
and  deafened  with  the  shouting  round  him.  He  was  not  sur- 
prised at  this,  for  he  knew  that  he  had  not  been  fitted  by  the 
semi-starvation  of  the  past  weeks  of  siege  to  sustain  a  long 
bout  at  fisticuffs,  and  if  he  were  to  be  master  of  the  field,  he 
must  end  the  fight  speedily. 

At  that  moment  Jock  felt  against  his  unbooted  heel  the 
slight  step  that  raised  the  chancel  above  the  nave.  He 
thought  to  himself  that  it  was  a  plaguy  spot,  in  which  a  man 
was  like  to  stumble,  and  even  in  the  thought  he  swerved  aside 
from  Pedock's  fist,  and  as  he  did  so,  missed  his  footing.  He 
heard  the  hissing  intake  of  breath  among  his  friends,  the  shout 
of  exultation  from  his  enemies,  and  then,  with  a  wrestler's 
trick,  he  had  gained  his  feet  three  paces  at  Pedock's  right 
hand. 

For  an  instant  the  two  men  fronted  each  other,  Pedock  with 
heaving  chest  and  mouth  a-gape,  Jock  with  compressed  lips 
and  half-shut  eyes,  and  the  men  who  crowded  about  the  bare 
strip  of  pavement,  worn  with  the  feet  of  worshippers,  where 
they  fought,  fell  suddenly  silent  and  watched  them,  with 
bodies  bent  forward  and  muscles  tense,  as  if  they,  too,  were 
about  to  fight  that  fight.  Then  Jock  fetched  a  deep  breath 
and  forthright  hurled  himself  upon  Pedock,  much  as  he  had 


THE  SWEETS  OF  VICTORY  6 

hurled  himself  five  minutes  before  at  the  opening  of  the  fight, 
when  he  had  seen  scarlet.  Only  now  Jock  saw  dusk  and  sun- 
light and  Pedock's  face,  and  he  struck  full  and  fair  for  the 
point  of  the  chin.  He  struck  the  man  and  sent  him  stagger- 
ing, as  he  had  done  at  his  first  blow,  but,  not  as  he  had  done 
at  first,  he  sent  him  crashing  backward  at  his  full  length. 

Jock  heard  the  shouts  that  rang  round  him,  and  he  sprang 
back  with  fists  clenched  and  body  half  crouching,  ready  to 
receive  the  bull-like  onset  when  the  man  should  rise.  Then 
he  saw  that  Pedock  lay  still,  stretched  on  his  back,  with  his 
head  against  the  slight  step  that  raised  the  chancel  above 
the  nave,  and  thin  streams  of  blood  oozing  from  his  mouth 
and  nostrils. 

It  was  Issachar  Pedock,  the  brother  of  the  fallen  man,  that 
first  raised  the  cry,  "  God  'a'  mercy !  He  has  murdered  him !" 
The  cry  was  caught  up,  tossed  back  and  forth  through  the 
empty  spaces  of  the  church,  echoing  from  crypt  to  vaulted 
roof,  and  before  the  first  echo  had  died,  came  the  heavy  surge 
of  the  soldiery  toward  the  spot  where  Jock  Hetherington 
stood. 

At  the  same  moment  all  the  king's  men  in  St.  Andrew's 
that  had  two  legs  to  stand  on  swarmed  round  their  comrade, 
weaponless,  to  be  sure,  but  with  the  potentiality  of  a  pretty 
fight  still  in  them.  For  a  red  moment  a  pretty  fight  seemed 
indeed  inevitable,  but  between  the  growling  soldiers  and  the 
loudly  defiant  prisoners  stood  the  lately  backslidden  sergeant. 
"Murder?"  he  shouted.  "Murder  a  pudding!  'Twas  a 
lovely  fight  and  fair  to  boot.  Convey  your  brother  forth 
into  the  air,  Issachar  Pedock,  and  hold  your  silly  tongue!" 

Then,  being  an  impartial  man,  the  sergeant  laid  a  heavy 
hand  on  the  nearest  and  noisiest  of  the  captives,  who,  as  it 
chanced,  was  the  boy  that  a  little  earlier  had  bewailed  himself 
in  the  rearmost  rank  of  the  spectators.  Now,  in  the  shift  of 
positions,  finding  himself  in  the  front  of  the  battle,  he  was 


6  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

shouting  defiance  at  everything  in  sight,  and  him  the  sergeant 
caught  by  the  scrufif  of  the  neck,  cuffed  ceremoniously,  and 
sent  spinning  to  the  wall.  "Stand  you  back,  every  man  of 
you !"  he  ordered.  "  Back,  I  say !  Death  o'  my  soul !  Will 
ye  have  a  dose  o'  cold  lead  to  share  amongst  you  ?  Back,  or 
'twill  be  the  worse  for  your  fighting-cock  yonder !" 

Sullenly  enough,  the  prisoners  broke  apart  and  scattered; 
some  with  a  selfish  and  sensible  dread  of  consequences,  should 
the  sergeant,  true  to  his  word,  order  the  guards  to  fire  upon 
them ;  others,  among  them  Verney  Claybourne,  with  a  fear  of 
imperilling  Jock  Hetherington  the  more  by  too  stubborn  a 
resistance.  In  little  groups  and  knots  they  broke  away,  and 
while  a  few  of  them  went  to  look  to  the  injured  man,  whose 
injury  had  provoked  the  fight,  the  rest  stood  muttering  among 
themselves,  with  eyes  alert  for  any  hostile  movement  on  the 
part  of  the  guards. 

Of  all  the  prisoners  Jock  was  the  only  one  that  kept  his 
place  in  the  middle  of  the  nave,  and  he  stayed  there,  partly, 
it  must  be  owned,  from  youthful  swagger,  and  partly  from  a 
prudent  desire  to  recover  his  boots  and  his  doublet,  which  he 
had  cast  off  promiscuously  at  the  beginning  of  the  fight.  He 
had  found  the  casting  off  easy,  for  boots  and  doublet 
were  both  a  size  too  large  for  him.  Four  and  twenty  hours 
before,  when  the  fall  of  the  long-besieged  town  of  Colchester 
had  changed  his  estate  from  that  of  a  gentleman  volunteer  of 
King  Charles  to  that  of  a  prisoner  to  the  Parliament,  he  had, 
like  most  of  his  comrades,  made  a  forced  exchange  of  gar- 
ments with  his  captors,  and  had  had  much  the  worse  of  the 
bargain.  Still  he  held  that  half-worn  boots  and  a  ragged 
doublet  were  better  than  none  at  all,  so  he  prowled  down  the 
nave  in  anxious  search  of  his  missing  property. 

He  passed  one  or  two  stragglers  of  the  guards  who  scowled 
upon  him  and  muttered,  but  under  the  eye  of  the  sergeant 
ventured  no  more,  and  to  their  threats  Jock  was  deaf,  and  to 


THE  SWEETS  OF  VICTOEY  T 

their  looks  blind,  and  that  not  altogether  from  policy.  Of  a 
truth  his  ears  still  rang  with  the  noise  of  fighting,  and  his  eyes 
were  dazzled.  Strictly  attentive  to  the  business  in  hand,  he 
searched  until,  by  the  northern  wall  of  the  nave,  he  found 
his  doublet  and  his  boots  strewn  along  the  floor,  much  as  he 
had  left  them,  beneath  a  gilded  tablet  that  set  forth  the  vir- 
tues of  one  Dame  Eleanor  Heyroun.  Forthwith  he  balanced 
himself  on  one  foot,  bracing  his  shoulders  against  the  wall,  and 
slowly  set  to  drawing  on  his  boots. 

There  was  now  comparative  peace  in  the  church,  though  it 
partook  of  the  nature  of  the  lull  between  two  thunderclaps. 
Still,  the  prisoners  had  dispersed  more  or  less  quietly,  the 
guards  had  returned  to  their  sentry  duty  by  the  door  or  in 
the  open  churchyard,  and  Faintnot  Pedock  had  been  carried 
forth  by  his  white-faced  brother  and  two  comrades.  The  ser- 
geant, following  after,  profited  by  the  calm  to  halt  beside  Jock 
Hetherington. 

"  What's  your  weight,  my  bully  ?  "  he  asked. 

Jock  took  up  his  second  boot.  "  Better  than  a  hundred  and 
sixty  pounds,  sergeant,  when  the  siege  began.  'Tis  less  now 
by  eight  weeks  of  short  commons." 

The  sergeant  eyed  him  critically.  "You're  a  good  man  of 
your  hands,"  he  said,  "but  I  could  teach  you  a  trick  or  two 
would  be  to  your  profit.  You  could  'a'  downed  him  near  a 
minute  earlier,  had  you  known  how  to  take  your  vantage." 

"  I  never  was  rightly  taught,"  said  Jock.  "  Fighting  came 
to  me  naturally  as  a  gift  o'  God." 

Slowly  the  sergeant's  eyes  began  to  twinkle.  "  'Tis  a  mon- 
strous pity,"  said  he,  "  that  you're  a  gentleman.  If  you  were 
but  a  private  trooper — " 

"And  what  then?"  asked  Jock. 

"Why,"  said  the  sergeant,  "if  you  were  a  private  soldier 
and  a  prisoner  now  in  our  hands,  you'd  never  be  shipped  into 
Barbadoes  or  the  Venetian  state  with  your  fellows  in  affile- 


8  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

tion.  You'd  find  yourself  shuffled  into  my  company,  and  no 
questions  asked  of  nobody." 

"I  am  bound  to  you  for  your  good  will,"  said  Jock,  and 
then  as  he  took  up  his  doublet,  added,  "  but  as  long  as  I  am 
not  a  private  soldier,  but  a  gentleman  volunteer,  for  my  sins, 
what  is  to  become  of  me?" 

Jock  asked  the  question  with  seeming  carelessness,  but  he 
felt  his  heart  beat  a  little  quicker  while  he  waited  for  the  an- 
swer. For  twenty-four  hours  the  gentlemen  volunteers  had 
speculated  none  too  pleasurably  as  to  their  probable  fate,  and 
had  vainly  sought  from  the  guards  some  hint  that  might  end 
their  suspense.  Always  the  guards  had  answered  with  mock- 
ery; but  for  the  moment,  at  least,  the  sergeant  was  pleased 
with  Jock,  and  consequently  told  him  the  truth. 

"You  gentlemen  volunteers?"  the  sergeant  repeated. 
"Set  your  mind  at  rest.  You'll  soon  be  clear  of  the  toils. 
You're  to  be  turned  over  to  General  Fairfax's  officers,  and 
when  you've  paid  your  ransoms,  you'll  be  free  to  go  home  — 
to  your  mother."  He  added  the  last  with  a  grin,  for,  spite 
of  the  haggardness  and  pallor  of  Jock's  face,  he  could  see, 
looking  closely,  that  he  was  little  more  than  a  boy. 

"  Verily ! "  said  Jock,  and  stopped  midway  of  drawing  on 
his  doublet.  "So  I'm  to  be  turned  over  to  one  of  Fairfax's 
officers  who  thinks  to  make  his  profit  of  my  ransom?  Truth, 
he'll  be  the  worst-gulled  man  in  three  kingdoms !  If  you're 
set  on  having  me  in  your  company,  sergeant,  you  can  buy 
me  of  my  owner  at  no  dear  price.  Offer  him  twopence  in 
ransom  of  me,  and  you'll  find  there's  none  will  outbid  you." 
Saying  this,  he  gave  his  doublet  a  final  savage  jerk  that  car- 
ried it  up  over  his  shoulders,  and  looked  upon  the  sergeant 
challengingly. 

More  might  have  passed  between  them,  but  at  that  moment 
Issachar  Pedock  came  swiftly  up  the  nave  and  stood  at  salute 
at  the  sergeant's  elbow.     "  Sir,"  he  reported,  without  looking 


THE  SWEETS  OF  VICTORY  9 

at  Jock,  "  my  brother's  brainpan  is  broken,  and  we  think  him 
dying." 

The  sergeant  drew  a  breath  like  a  whistle.  "So !"  he  said, 
and  turning  on  his  heel,  went  quickly  forth  into  the  church- 
yard. 

Issachar  Pedock  stood  fronting  Jock,  and  Jock,  with  shoul- 
ders still  braced  against  the  wall,  met  his  eyes  squarely.  He 
noted  that  the  scar  of  an  old  wound  on  Pedock's  cheek 
twitched  as  he  spoke,  but  otherwise  the  man  was  deadly  quiet. 

"You  heard  what  I  said?"  asked  Pedock. 

"I  have  ears,"  said  Jock. 

"You  have  slain  my  brother." 

Jock's  eyes  never  faltered.  "I  had  it  in  mind  so  to  do," 
he  said,  "when  I  saw  him  kick  a  dying  man." 

For  a  moment  the  two  studied  each  other  in  silence.  Then, 
"  You're  a  good  man  of  your  hands  and  like  to  go  to  buffets, 
it  may  be?"  Pedock  asked  suddenly. 

"  It  may  be,"  said  Jock. 

"This  cock-a-hoop  sergeant  of  ours  goes  off  duty  at  six 
o'clock,"  Pedock  went  on  with  slow  emphasis.  "'Tis  a 
cousin  of  mine  heads  the  guard  to-night,  —  a  cousin  to  the 
man  you  slew  and  one  that  loved  him.  I  shall  be  here  also. 
And  before  morning,  my  trim  gentleman,  you  that  like  buf- 
fets, you  will  have  had  enough  of  buffeting  to  last  you  your 
life  long." 


CHAPTER  II 

OUT   OP  THE  PRYING-PAN 

After  Pedock  had  walked  away,  Jock  Hetherington  still 
stood  leaning  against  the  wall  beneath  the  tablet  sacred  to  the 
virtues  of  Dame  Heyroun.  He  kept  his  eyes  bent  down  and 
he  made  a  slow  business  of  turning  back  the  sleeve  of  his 
doublet,  which  was  too  long  for  him,  but  in  reality  he  was 
still  seeing  Pedock's  face. 

Faint  with  long  starving  and  wearied  with  the  exertion  of 
the  fight,  he  looked  despairingly  toward  the  future  that  Ped- 
ock's threats  held  out  to  him.  If  he  could  have  seen  one  ray 
of  hope,  he  was  of  as  good  courage  as  the  next  man,  but  peer 
where  he  would,  he  saw  the  prospect  everyTvhere  dark.  He 
knew  that  he  and  his  fellows  were  absolutely  at  the  mercy  of 
their  guards.  He  knew  of  no  way  in  which  he  could  send  an 
appeal  for  protection  to  any  one  of  the  commissioned  officers 
among  the  conquerors,  and  even  had  he  known  a  hundred 
ways,  he  judged  that  such  an  appeal  were  futile.  A  friendless 
and  impoverished  gentleman,  he  was  but  an  unmarked  straw 
upon  the  tide  of  battle.  He  might  suffer  that  night  the  ex- 
treme bitterness  of  pain  and  shame,  and  he  knew  well  that  not 
a  hand  would  be  lifted  either  to  protect  his  life  or  to  avenge 
his  death. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Jock  that  his  mind  never  held  more 
than  one  idea  at  a  time.  Given  such  a  mind,  he  frequently 
attained  whither  he  set  out  to  attain,  but,  conversely,  was  as 
frequently  perplexed  by  the  unconsidered  consequences  that 
followed  on  his  attainment.    For  instance,  he  had  seen  clearly 

10 


OUT  OF  THE  FRYING-PAN  11 

the  pleasure  and  the  necessity  of  killing,  or  at  least  disabling, 
Faintnot  Pedock,  but  he  had  been  incapable  of  seeing  till  the 
fight  was  over  the  probable  disaster  that  success  would  bring 
to  him.  In  the  same  manner  he  now  fixed  his  whole  mind  on 
the  fate  that  waited  for  him  when  the  guard  should  be  changed 
that  evening,  and  became  so  intent  in  his  musing  that  he 
started  at  the  sound  of  his  name. 

"That's  twice  I've  spoken  to  you,  Jock,"  said  Verney  Clay- 
bourne,  close  beside  him.  "Come  you  with  me.  He's  fain 
to  speak  with  you." 

"Who?"  Jock  questioned,  but  Verney,  without  replying, 
led  the  way  across  the  church. 

The  little  group  of  men,  gathered  by  the  southern  wall  of 
the  nave,  broke  apart  with  eyes  on  Jock,  and  at  sight  of  what 
their  movement  disclosed,  Jock  caught  a  sharp  breath.  At 
his  feet  lay  the  injured  man,  the  man  for  whom  he  had  fought, 
the  man  for  whom  he  was  in  all  likelihood  to  suffer  death,  and 
looking  upon  him,  Jock  looked  upon  the  face  that  he  hated 
most  in  the  world,  and  by  the  irony  of  fate  the  face  that  in 
all  the  world  was  likest  to  his  own.  They  might  have  been 
blood-brothers,  those  two  men.  Jock  stood  upright,  and  at 
his  feet  lay  another  Jock,  older  by  seven  years  and  much  hard 
living,  taller  by  a  couple  of  inches,  broader  in  the  chest, 
bearded  where  Jock  was  clean  shaven,  long-haired  where  Jock 
was  clipped  after  the  soldierly  Swedish  fashion,  but  still  with 
the  same  compact,  slender  figure,  the  same  dark  hair,  and 
gray  eyes,  and  hawklike  profile. 

"It  was  you,  John  Hetherington?"  Jock  questioned 
slowly.  "You?  I  thought  'twas  another."  For  a  moment, 
in  the  realization  of  the  thwart  trick  that  fate  had  served 
him,  he  was  silent;  then  his  lips  curled  back  from  his  teeth 
in  a  soundless  laugh.  "'Tis  a  bitter  mistake  I  have  made, 
cousin,"  he  said,  bending  toward  the  injured  man.  He  could 
see  that  there  still  was  consciousness  in  the  gray  eyes  that  met 


12  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

his.  "Of  your  charity  hold  it  but  a  mistake.  You  know 
well  that  I  should  be  very  fain  to  see  you  kicked  —  Uke  a 
dog." 

Something  like  a  feeble  twinkle  came  into  the  eyes  of  the 
elder  man.  "  You  always  were  —  frank  spoken,"  he  gasped  ; 
"you  cursed  little  ruffian!" 

The  phrase  might  have  been  meant  either  for  vitupera- 
tion or  for  compliment.  The  next  words  surely  would  have 
explained  it,  but  there  were  no  next  words.  John  Hether- 
ington's  wound  was  in  the  chest,  and  the  exertion  of  even  so 
much  speech  set  him  coughing,  and  the  cough  filled  his  mouth 
with  blood. 

In  the  midst  of  the  coughing  Jock  turned  and  went  back 
to  his  place  beneath  Dame  Heyroun's  tablet.  He  sat  down 
on  the  pavement  with  his  back  to  the  wall,  and  as  he  had 
already  adjusted  his  doublet  sleeves,  gave  his  undivided 
attention,  to  all  outward  seeming,  to  wresting  a  bit  of  leather 
from  the  worn  top  of  his  right  boot.  Thus  he  was  engaged, 
when  Verney  Claybourne,  crossing  the  church  once  more, 
came  and  stood  at  his  side. 

"You  are  busied?"  said  Verney,  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm. 

"Is  he  dead?"  asked  Jock.  As  his  kinsman  had  said, 
he  was  a  frank-spoken  little  ruffian. 

"Not  yet,"  Verney  answered.  "He  may  live  out  the 
night." 

"  Then  let  him  hold  himself  happy,  for  'tis  more  than  some 
of  us  may  do.     Sure,  you  do  not  look  for  me  to  weep  for  him  ?  " 

As  Jock  said  the  words,  there  was  challenge  in  his  eyes. 
Brief  though  his  acquaintance  with  Verney  had  been,  when 
reckoned  by  days,  those  days  they  had  spent  as  comrades 
under  fire,  and  in  such  circumstance  acquaintance  had  quick- 
ened to  a  tacit  friendship.  Jock  approved  of  Verney,  some- 
what because  Verney  had  good  courage  and  a  generous  heart, 
somewhat  —  most  incongruously  —  because  Verney  had  com- 


OUT  OF  THE  FEYING-PAN  13 

manding  height  and  a  gracious  manner,  the  two  attributes 
which  Jock,  himself  lacking,  in  his  secret  heart  most  coveted. 
In  fact,  after  his  own  reserved  fashion,  Jock  liked  Verney 
more  than  he  liked  most  men,  and  he  could  not  bear  that 
now  this  chosen  friend  should  think  ill  of  him. 

After  a  moment  Verney  sat  down  by  Jock's  side  on  the 
flagged  pavement.  He  was  a  little  older  than  Jock  in  years, 
a  little  younger,  perhaps,  in  hard  experience,  and  bearing 
that  last  fact  in  mind,  he  spoke  less  harshly  than  he  had 
thought  to  speak.  "  You  seem  a  generous  soul  in  most  mat- 
ters, Jock.  What  is  there  between  you  and  your  kinsman 
Hetherington  that  you  grudge  him  a  kindly  word  now,  when 
he  lies  dying?" 

"Ask  him!"   Jock  answered. 

"  And  haven't  we  asked  him  ?  Do  you  think  we  that  have 
been  your  comrades,  yours  and  Hetherington's,  the  last 
weeks,  are  without  the  human  grace  of  curiosity?  Haven't 
we  asked  him!" 

"And  what  did  he  say  was  between  us?" 

"Truth,  he  said  there  was  naught.  A  child's  quarrel  per- 
haps, or — " 

For  the  second  time  Jock  laughed.  "Naught  or  every- 
thing, as  you  choose  to  look  upon  it,"  he  said.  "A  child's 
quarrel,  yes."  His  eyes  strayed  from  the  bit  of  leather  he 
was  twisting,  passed  beyond  the  disordered  nave,  beyond 
the  chancel  step  where  Pedock  had  fallen,  to  the  shattered 
east  window  and  the  quiet  sky.  "Verney,"  said  Jock,  in  a 
gentler  voice,  "I'm  loath  that  you  should  think  me  over- 
harsh.  If  aught  should  befall  me,  —  for  we're  all  here  at  a 
sorry  pass,  you  take  my  meaning,  and  we  know  not  what  the 
next  hour  brings,  —  I  should  rest  easier  if  I  knew  that  you 
knew  the  truth  of  what  lies  between  my  cousin  Hetherington 
and  myself.     Will  you  listen?" 

"Yes,"  said  Verney,  eagerly,  and  waited,  but  for  a  long 


14  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

minute  Jock  twisted  the  bit  of  leather  between  his  fingers 
and  frowned  and  was  silent.  "You  were  telling  me — " 
hinted  Verney. 

"After  all,"  Jock  resumed,  "there  is  little  to  tell.  I've  no 
pretty  ballad  story  of  a  ravaged  sister  or  a  murdered  father. 
It  is  a  child's  tale.  I  scarce  know  how  to  put  it  into  words. 
I  must  go  back  to  make  you  understand  even  a  little,  afar 
off.  We  Hetheringtons,  you  must  know,  then,  are  the  great 
folk  of  Daske  Forest,  that  lies  in  the  West  Riding,  toward 
the  borders  of  Lancashire.  The  head  of  the  house  is  lord 
of  the  manors  of  Broxby  and  Begdon  and  Wretham-under- 
Daske,  and  he  has  his  seat  at  a  noble  old  hall  nigh  to  Broxby. 
He  is  a  very  great  man  in  the  eyes  of  his  tenants  and  in  his 
own  eyes,  greater,  I  think,  than  the  king  himself. 

"My  father  was  own  brother  to  Squire  Hetherington,  the 
father  of  the  man  that  is  dying  yonder,  and  being  a  younger 
brother,  was  bred  to  the  church.  Later  they  gave  him  the 
living  of  Begdon,  where  the  parson's  tithes  are  never  paid, 
and  he  married  my  mother,  a  gentlewoman  of  the  Lancashire 
Holcrofts,  and  begot  me.  My  mother  died  when  I  was  a  tiny 
lad,  and  my  father  married  the  kitchen  wench,  a  kind  soul 
who  bore  him  many  children. 

"The  tithes,  as  I  say,  were  never  paid,  and  old  Squire's 
widow  —  he  had  been  dead  some  years  —  offered  of  her 
charity  to  take  me  to  live  at  the  Hall.  My  father,  I  think, 
was  glad  to  be  quit  of  me.  So  I  went  to  the  Hall.  It  was 
fourteen  years  ago.  I  was  rising  eight  years  old,  and  my 
cousin  yonder  was  near  fifteen.  There's  little  to  say.  He 
was  a  great  lad  and  I  was  a  little  lad.  I  could  forget  all  else 
—  I  could  forget  how  he  had  everything,  and  I  nothing,  for 
that  was  just,  no  doubt,  since  he  was  the  young  squire,  and 
I  could  forget  how  he  was  wont  to  play  the  bully  with  me, 
— 'tis  the  way  of  older  lads  ofttimes,  —  but  my  dog  I  will 
never  forget,  and  as  God  sees  me,  I  never  will  forgive  1" 


OUT  OF  THE  FRYING-PAN  16 

Jock  tossed  by  the  bit  of  leather,  and  dropping  down  on 
one  elbow,  averted  his  eyes.  "It  was  a  little  old  spaniel," 
he  said,  speaking  quickly.  "It  had  been  my  mother's.  I 
brought  it  with  me  to  the  Hall.  I  used  to  huggle  it  in  my 
arms  at  night,  and  it  licked  my  face  when  I  cried  for  home- 
sickness. One  day  my  cousin  struck  me,  and  my  dog  snapped 
at  him.  He  beat  out  its  brains  with  the  butt  of  his  fowling- 
piece." 

Verney  Claybourne  drew  a  hissing  breath.  He  had  dogs 
of  his  own. 

"When  I  was  a  little  brat,  my  mother  had  taught  me  to 
pray  to  God  to  make  me  a  good  lad,"  Jock  hurried  on.  "  After 
that  I  altered  my  prayer.  I  used  to  beg  God  to  make  me  a 
tall  man  that  I  might  kill  my  cousin  John.  You  see  He  did 
not  grant  my  prayer,  or  maybe,  growing  faint-hearted,  I 
ceased  too  soon  to  pray." 

"And  that  is  all  that  has  been  between  you  and  your 
cousin?"   Verney  asked  as  Jock  paused. 

"All  that  was  of  moment,"  Jock  answered  indifferently. 
"  After  a  time  he  went  away  to  Oxford.  Then  I  was  happier 
at  the  Hall.  My  aunt  suffered  me  ride  the  little  horse  that 
he  had  outgrown.  I  was  fourteen  when  he  came  back  from 
the  university,  a  fine  town  gallant.  He  bade  me  clean  his 
shoes.  I  cast  them  into  his  face.  Then  he  beat  me,  but  it 
was  for  the  last  time.  That  night  I  trudged  three  league 
across  the  moors  to  my  stepmother.  My  father  was  dead 
five  years  before,  thrown  from  his  horse  and  killed  at  a  cub 
hunt.  My  stepmother  was  married  again  to  a  farmer  named 
Elroyd.  I  walked  into  their  stableyard  in  the  gray  of  the 
morning,  and  told  Goodman  Elroyd  I  would  clean  his  horses, 
hew  his  wood,  anything,  if  he  would  not  send  me  back  to  the 
Hall.  In  the  end  they  suffered  me  bide  with  the  Elroyds, 
and  my  stepmother  was  always  kind  to  me.  There's  no  more 
to  say  of  my  cousin  John.    He  raised  a  troop  at  the  begin- 


16  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

ning  of  the  troubles  and  got  him  a  captaincy.  I  went  out  in 
a  Lancashire  regiment  as  a  pikeman,  and  later  one  of  my 
mother's  kinsmen  gave  me  an  ensign's  commission." 

"But  you  knew  each  other  afterward,  when  you  were  in 
High  Germany?"  Verney  suggested. 

Jock  laughed.  "Captain  Hetherington  was  a  gentleman 
exile,  living  at  his  ease  with  money  to  squander.  His  mother 
starved  herself  to  keep  him  gallant.  And  I  was  a  private 
soldier  once  more.  There  was  no  great  likelihood  of  our  con- 
sorting, was  there?" 

"  Dick  Tevery  told  me  that  your  cousin  balked  your  chance 
of  a  commission  with  General  Wrangel,  and  'twas  from  that 
sprang  your  disrelish  to  him." 

Jock  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  'Twas  another  shrewd  turn 
I  had  to  thank  my  cousin  for,"  he  said.  "But  I  told  you  I 
had  forgiven  everything  now  —  everything  except  my  dog. 
You  understand  me  well." 

"Yes,"  said  Verney,  and  thought  that  he  spoke  the  truth. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  being  midland  born,  he  was  a  thousand 
miles  from  understanding  the  dour  hatred  of  the  northern 
man. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence  between  them.  Jock  suf- 
fered himself  to  fall  back  at  full  length  on  the  pavement,  and 
with  arms  beneath  his  head,  stared  up  into  the  dim,  vaulted 
roof  of  the  church.  "Thirteen  years  I've  waited  to  quit  the 
score  that  I  owe  my  cousin  John,"  he  said  half  to  himself. 
"  'Tis  a  droll  stroke  that  instead  I  should  come  by  my  death 
for  thrusting  into  his  quarrel." 

Verney,  who  had  been  lazing  with  his  two  elbows  propped 
on  the  pavement,  straightened  himself  suddenly.  "Death? 
What  mean  you  by  that,  Jock?"  He  spent  five  minutes  of 
hard  labor  in  getting  to  the  bottom  of  Jock's  meaning,  but 
he  was  no  fool,  and  in  Jock's  chance  sentence  he  had  been 
given  a  key  to  the  situation.    He  got  the  truth  at  last  of  Issa- 


OUT  OF  THE  FRYING-PAN  17 

char  Pedock's  threat  and  Jock's  very  real  peril,  and  he  became 
grave  indeed  as  he  heard  the  story. 

"I  had  no  mind  to  tell  you,"  muttered  Jock. 

"The  more  fool  you!"  said  Verney.  "And  the  more  fool 
I,  not  to  know  that  something  was  grievously  amiss !" 

Verney  did  not  add  what  he  had  in  mind,  that  any  sane  man 
would  have  guessed  from  Jock's  telling  such  intimate  matters 
that  he  held  himself  on  the  verge  of  a  long  parting.  It  was 
not  Jock's  practice  to  unbosom  himself  on  any  slight  pretext. 
Having  no  time  to  waste,  Verney  did  not  stay  to  explain  these 
deductions  to  Jock,  but  rose  up  and  sought  Dick  Tevery,  the 
noisy  gentleman  with  the  bandaged  head,  and  an  unshaven 
gentleman  named  Will  Framlingham,  and  a  coatless,  sleepy, 
and  bad-tempered  gentleman  named  Robert  Welch. 

These  four,  presently  returning,  sat  down  with  Jock  under 
Dame  Eleanor's  gilded  tablet  and  held  a  council  of  war.  It 
was  a  council  characteristic  of  the  Cavalier  party  in  that  it 
was  noisy,  heated,  protracted,  and  came  to  nothing.  Half- 
way through,  Welch  discovered  from  Jock's  account  what 
disposition  was  to  be  made  of  the  gentlemen  volunteers,  and 
forthwith  washed  his  hands  of  Jock's  affairs  and  went  to 
spread  the  glad  tidings  among  his  fellow-prisoners.  Tevery 
had  but  one  piece  of  advice  to  offer,  namely,  that  they  should 
instantly,  one  and  all,  assault  the  guards,  by  which  means, 
Framlingham  was  at  pains  to  point  out,  they  would  instead 
of  saving  Jock  reduce  themselves  to  his  condition.  Fram- 
lingham himself,  being  an  astute  gentleman,  thought  that 
something  might  be  accomplished  by  bribing  somebody  with 
something,  and  Tevery  at  that  grew  in  his  turn  derisive.  Who 
was  to  be  bribed?  The  sergeant,  perhaps?  It  was  likely 
that  he  would  show  marked  favor  to  the  prisoner  that  his 
mates  had  singled  out  for  punishment,  when  already  his 
credit  would  be  tottering  for  his  tacit  assent  to  the  fight. 
And  how  was  he  to  be  bribed,  when  not  a  man  among  them 
c 


18  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

had  a  groat  wherewith  to  bless  himself?  No,  the  only  way 
was  to  thrash  the  guards  instantly! 

Thus  they  wrangled,  while  the  sunlight  crept  higher 
on  the  walls  of  the  church,  and  in  the  chancel  the  shadows 
grew  longer  and  blacker.  A  faint  breath  of  wind  stirred  at 
the  casements  and  at  the  open  door.  Evening  was  coming, 
with  coolness  and  a  hint  of  peace,  even  for  the  weary  prisoners 
in  St.  Andrew's,  but  with  the  evening  would  come  the  night 
guard,  and  the  men  who  were  bent  to  avenge  Faintnot  Pedock. 

Jock  himself  had  been  silent  for  the  last  half  hour,  lying 
with  his  head  on  one  hand  and  his  eyes  on  the  pavement. 
He  had  taken  note  that  he  was  resting  on  the  flagstone  that 
covered  the  grave  of  Philip  Heyroun  of  Heronswood,  who 
died  An.  Dom.  1605,  and  he  traced  the  deep-cut  letters  with 
one  finger,  and  ceased  all  pretence  of  sharing  in  the  councils 
of  his  friends.  "Well,  if  you  will  not,  you  will  not,  a  devil 
run  away  with  you !"  he  heard  Tevery  conclude  at  last,  and 
saw  him  drive  his  hands  into  his  breeches  pockets.  Jock  did 
not  trouble  himself  to  ask  questions;  he  knew  that  his  coun- 
sellors had  reached  the  same  conclusion  that  he  had  reached 
four  hours  ago,  and  had  judged  his  case  to  be  hopeless. 

The  minutes  seemed  to  Jock  now  to  crawl,  now  to  gallop. 
He  saw  Tevery  rise  and  pace  up  and  down  by  the  wall,  swear- 
ing half  audibly.  He  saw  Framlingham  get  up  and  slip  away 
to  the  other  prisoners.  Then  when  the  church  was  dusking 
with  twilight,  he  felt  Verney  touch  his  arm. 

"Jock,"  said  Verney,  "I've  just  come  into  my  estate  down 
in  Cambridgeshire.  It's  near  a  thousand  pounds  a  year,  and 
I'm  thinking  even  one  of  Fairfax's  officers  will  not  be  so  nota- 
ble a  griper  as  to  ask  it  all  of  me  in  way  of  ransom.  So  if  the 
promise  of  recompense  will  avail  you  with  this  fry  of  devils  — 
you  know  that  what  I  have  is  yours  to  serve  you." 

Jock  bit  his  lip,  hardly  knowing  what  to  reply,  touched  and 
embarrassed,  and  most  unhappy  at  the  unlooked-for  offer. 


OUT  OF  THE  FRYING-PAN  19 

"I  thank  you,  Verney,"  he  said  at  last.  "I  doubt,  though, 
if  'twill  be  of  any  use.  Hark !  They're  changing  the  guard 
now." 

Through  the  open  door  came  the  unmistakable  sound  of 
clattering  accoutrements,  and  a  moment  later  the  tramp  of 
men,  gathering  among  the  graves  in  the  churchyard.  Jock 
started  to  his  feet,  and  at  that  moment  Framlingham  returned 
with  two  sheepish  recruits,  one  of  whom  was  the  boy  that  had 
taken  so  zealous  an  interest  in  the  fight. 

"We'll  back  you,"  said  Framlingham,  savagely.  "The 
rest  are  too  busied  wondering  if  they'll  get  their  rations  this 
night  to  care  what  comes  of  you." 

They  stood  round  Jock,  the  five  of  them,  and  waited. 
Tevery  tried  to  joke,  and  broke  off  to  swear.  The  boy  had 
a  brilliant  and  youthful  scheme  by  which  Jock  might  escape 
through  one  of  the  windows.  He  set  it  forth  at  length,  and 
nobody  took  the  trouble  to  stop  him,  and  Jock  indeed  grinned 
at  his  ineptitudes  and  thus  found  solace.  But  all  six  men  in 
the  group  by  the  tomb  of  the  Heyrouns  were  alert,  and  at  the 
same  moment  all  caught  the  first  step  of  the  guards  entering 
the  church,  and  fell  silent. 

The  sergeant  who  commanded  the  guard  for  the  night  came 
first,  —  a  wiry,  civil,  quiet  man,  who  knew  his  business  only 
too  well.  Ten  of  his  musketeers  he  bade  line  up  by  the  door 
with  their  loaded  pieces.  Four  others  he  bade  follow  him  up 
the  nave,  and  Issachar  Pedock  came  at  his  side.  Midway  of 
the  nave  he  halted  and  looked  about  him.  "Gentlemen — " 
he  began  gravely. 

"I  don't  like  that,"  muttered  Framlingham.  "I'd  liefer 
he'd  bluster." 

"There  was  a  riot  amongst  you  this  afternoon,"  the  civil 
sergeant  went  on.  "The  fellow  that  began  it  I  am  going  to 
clap  into  close  confinement." 

"Are  you?"   said  Tevery,  audibly. 


20  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

"And  moreover/'  the  sergeant  ended,  "until  the  culprit 
is  in  my  hands,  no  rations  will  be  issued  to  you.  Now,  where 
is  he?" 

There  was  a  moment  of  ghastly  comprehension  on  the  part 
of  near  threescore  of  hungry  men,  and  in  that  moment  died 
all  hope  of  active  resistance  in  Jock's  behalf.  Still,  even 
among  the  hungry  threescore,  not  one  had  yet  sunk  low  enough 
to  point  out  the  victim.  The  sergeant  turned  perforce  to 
Issachar  Pedock.     "Find  him!"   he  ordered. 

At  that,  partly  to  spare  his  friends  a  hopeless  fight,  partly 
because  he  was  tired  of  waiting  and  wished  to  end  it  now,  with 
dignity,  Jock  thrust  aside  Verney,  who  stood  before  him,  and 
walked  up  to  the  sergeant.  "  I'm  the  man  that  beat  the  sen- 
tinel," he  said. 

"Take  him,"  the  sergeant  ordered  his  musketeers,  who 
instantly  fell  in  round  Jock.  "Take  him  down  into  the 
crypt." 

Jock  heard  the  little  stir  and  protesting  growl  of  his  fellow- 
prisoners,  and  from  their  pity  of  him  he  realized  the  sore 
strait  in  which  he  stood.  The  crypt  to  which  they  were  order- 
ing him  was  deep  below  St.  Andrew's  church.  Whatever 
happened  there,  no  sound,  no  outcry,  no  plea  for  mercy  could 
ever  reach  the  outer  world.  It  was  to  a  living  grave  they  were 
sending  him. 

"You  stark  cowards!"  he  heard  Tevery  cry.  "Will  you 
suffer  them  take  him  thus?" 

Jock  drew  a  great  breath.  "Hold  your  tongue,  Dick!" 
he  called.  "You  can  do  me  no  good."  He  was  startled  at 
the  sound  of  his  voice,  so  shaken  and  husky  it  came  to  his  ears. 
Why,  he  must  be  afraid,  and  the  thought  that  he  could  be 
afraid  frightened  him  the  more.  He  felt  the  hand  of  one  of 
the  guards  laid  on  his  shoulder,  and  he  needed  all  his  resolu- 
tion not  to  struggle,  to  remember  that  he  must  go  quietly. 

In  the  same  moment  Jock  realized  that  he  could  not  yield, 


OUT  OF  THE  FRYING-PAN  21 

that  he  could  not  go  down  into  the  crypt.  If  his  courage 
should  fail  him  there,  cut  off  from  his  comrades !  It  were 
better  to  be  killed  that  moment  in  the  church,  while  he  still 
had  the  strength  to  bear  himself  like  a  man.  He  halted  short, 
braced  for  the  last  struggle,  or  rather,  he  found  himself  and 
his  guards  halted,  and  at  that,  with  an  inrush  of  shame,  mas- 
tered himself  and  would  have  gone  on  quietly.  But  when 
he  started  forward  the  guards  stopped  him,  and  then  he  saw 
that  it  was  not  his  movement  that  had  halted  them. 

A  man  had  come  in  at  the  open  door  of  the  church,  a  broad- 
shouldered  man,  who  wore  an  officer's  scarf  —  so  much  only 
could  Jock  make  out  in  the  twilight.  He  had  halted  by  the 
door,  and  the  sergeant  advanced  to  him. 

"You  have  the  gentlemen  volunteers  of  Lisle's  regiment 
here  in  your  custody?"  the  stranger  asked,  and  Jock  scarcely 
knew  whether  to  bless  or  curse  him  for  the  moment's  respite. 
"Find  me  out  if  John  Hetherington,  one  time  a  captain  in 
the  king's  service,  is  among  your  prisoners,"  the  officer  went 
on.  "  'Tis  the  General's  orders  that  you  deliver  him  at  once 
into  my  custody." 

Jock  took  one  bare  second  for  reflection.  Then  he  lifted 
his  voice.  "Sir,"  he  cried,  "I  am  the  man  you  seek.  I  am 
John  Hetherington." 


CHAPTER  III 

INTO  THE   FIRE 

In  the  hush  that  followed  upon  his  desperate  lie,  Jock 
waited  to  hear  a  half  hundred  voices  cry  aloud  a  contradic- 
tion. He  knew  the  way  in  which  the  vaulted  roof  would 
echo  back  the  sound,  and  in  anticipation  he  flinched  at  the 
accusing  clamor.  To  his  amazement  he  heard  no  such  up- 
roar, not  even  one  voice,  one  whisper  of  refutal.  There  was 
a  moment  —  it  seemed  to  him  full  five  minutes  —  of  silence, 
and  then  all  that  happened  was  that  the  Roundhead  officer, 
in  an  unastonished  voice,  bade,  "Bring  him  hither  to  the 
doorway  that  I  may  see  his  face." 

Without  further  prompting  Jock  stepped  from  the  midst 
of  his  guards  and  halted  in  the  doorway,  where  the  last  of  the 
daylight  was  fading  from  the  church.  The  officer,  standing 
opposite  him,  had  taken  a  crumpled  paper  from  his  pocket 
and  scanned  it  from  time  to  time,  holding  it  aslant  to  catch 
the  light,  and  then  in  turn  scanned  Jock.  "  Eyes,  —  com- 
plexion,— "  he  checked  the  items,  and  glanced  up  again. 
"You've  shaved  your  beard  and  cut  your  hair?"   he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Jock,  in  a  voice  where  confidence  was  growing. 

At  sober  second  thought,  as  far  as  thought  could  be  sober 
at  such  a  crisis,  he  realized  that  the  impulse  on  which  he  had 
claimed  his  cousin's  place  was  not  altogether  without  sanity. 
In  the  haphazard  fashion  in  which,  of  necessity,  matters  had 
been  handled  in  Colchester  in  the  feverish  hours  that  came 
after  the  fall  of  the  town,  no  full  record  had  been  made  of  the 
names  of  the  gentlemen  who  had  surrendered  themselves  as 


INTO  THE  FIEE  23 

prisoners.  Not  a  guard  there  present  was  likely  to  know  that 
there  were  two  John  Hetheringtons  in  St.  Andrew's;  not  one 
of  the  prisoners,  even  of  those  who  had  hesitated  to  risk  their 
skins  or  their  rations  in  Jock's  behalf,  was  likely  to  expose 
the  deception;  and  Jock's  cousin,  who  alone  could  have  had 
a  personal  interest  in  preventing  the  imposture,  lay  in  the 
unconsciousness  that  precedes  death. 

Moreover,  by  a  stroke  of  luck,  the  Roundhead  officer  appar- 
ently had  no  personal  knowledge  of  the  John  Hetherington 
that  he  sought.  He  was  identifying  his  man  by  the  sole  aid 
of  a  written  description,  and  therein  lay  Jock's  safety.  Allow- 
ing for  the  change  that  the  shaving  of  the  beard  and  the  cutting 
of  the  hair  might  work  in  a  man's  appearance,  Jock  was  in 
looks,  as  far  as  any  offhand  description  could  phrase  it,  his 
cousin  over  again.  He  saw,  then,  a  gleam  of  hope  —  hope 
that  he  might  for  a  few  hours  pass  himself  off  as  the  ex- 
Captain  Hetherington,  Hetherington  of  Broxby,  a  man  who 
could  pay  ransom  and,  as  such,  was  worthy  of  considerate 
treatment.  Maybe,  before  the  cheat  was  detected,  he  could 
hit  upon  some  means  of  escape  or,  at  worst,  he  might  win 
the  Roundhead  officer  to  protect  him  from  the  violence  of 
Pedock's  fellow-soldiers. 

Jock  looked  anxiously  at  the  officer  upon  whom  his  fate 
depended,  and  tried  to  judge  what  manner  of  man  he  might 
be.  To  look  at,  he  seemed  about  thirty  years  of  age,  a  big, 
sun-browned,  clean-shaven  captain  of  horse,  who  wore  his 
accoutrements  like  a  soldier  of  some  years'  standing.  He  did 
not  appear  to  be  overblessed  with  cleverness,  which  was  a 
distinct  advantage  for  Jock,  but  he  looked  as  if  he  might  on 
occasion  have  some  glimmering  of  humanity.  At  any  rate, 
Jock  would  liefer  be  in  his  custody  than  in  that  of  Issachar 
Pedock,  and  he  would  at  least  win  by  his  desperate  shift  a 
temporary  escape  from  St.  Andrew's,  a  few  hours'  respite, 
and  for  what  might  come  after  he  would  plan  when  it  came. 


24  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

The  officer  crumpled  the  paper  back  into  his  pocket.  "So 
you  are  Captain  Hetherington,"  he  repeated  with  eyes  on  Jock. 

"  Not  a  captain  now,"  Jock  answered.  It  was  a  manifesta- 
tion of  his  north-country  caution  that,  when  feasible,  he  pre- 
ferred to  tell  the  truth  rather  than  to  lie.  "  I  served  here  in 
Colchester  as  a  gentleman  volunteer." 

The  other  cut  him  short.  "  No  need  to  quibble,  sir.  You 
held  a  captaincy  of  the  king  in  the  earlier  troubles.  You 
came  from  France  three  months  ago,  and  landed  with  a  crew 
of  rakehells  like  yourself  near  Clegden  in  Suffolk.  You  admit 
it?" 

"  I  don't  deny  it,"  said  Jock,  with  a  fair  assumption  of  his 
cousin's  insolent  manner. 

The  Roundhead  captain  turned  to  the  sergeant.  "This  is 
the  man  I  seek,"  he  announced.  "  He  goes  hence  in  my  cus- 
tody.    I  have  the  General's  warrant." 

More  of  the  formal  business  of  the  transfer  Jock  might  have 
heard,  had  he  chosen  to  listen,  but  he  found  in  the  next 
minutes  that  he  preferred  to  look.  He  held  that  the  sight 
of  Issachar  Pedock's  baffled  face  was  worth  all  that  the  cap- 
tain and  the  sergeant  between  them  could  say,  and  satisfac- 
tion of  another  sort  he  found  in  the  glimpse  that  he  had  of 
the  dusky  corner  near  Dame  Hejrroun's  tomb,  where  Tevery, 
in  a  vigorous  and  soundless  pantomime,  was  pounding  Fram- 
lingham  between  the  shoulders  and  Verney  Claybourne  him- 
self seemed  inclined  to  lend  a  hand. 

Jock  drew  an  added  sense  of  relief  from  the  visible  relief  of 
his  friends,  and,  very  hopeful  for  the  future,  followed  at  the 
heels  of  his  new  captor  out  into  the  churchyard.  It  was  a 
little  space  of  scuffed  and  trodden  turf,  with  gray  stones  on 
either  hand  and  a  black  yew  tree  by  the  northern  wall,  but 
to  the  man  that  had  just  been  reprieved  from  the  crypt, 
it  seemed  a  spacious,  peaceful,  sheltering  spot.  Westward, 
above  the  steep  roofs  of  the  town,  the  sunset  glow  bathed 


INTO  THE  FIKE  25 

the  sky  with  rose  and  opal  Ught.  Jock  turned  his  face  thither, 
and  in  a  half-formed  way  made  good  and  prudent  resolves. 
He  would  not  jeopardize  this,  his  Heaven-sent  chance  of  es- 
cape. He  would  be  meek  and  circumspect.  Whatever  orders 
this  Roundhead  captain  gave  him,  he  would  obey.  Above  all 
he  would  not  lift  his  hand  against  any  man,  —  least  of  all, 
against  any  guard,  —  as  long  as  life  was  in  him,  as  long  — 

At  that  moment,  following  as  he  was  bidden,  Jock  stepped 
from  the  churchyard  into  the  narrow  street  that  was  over- 
shadowed on  the  one  side  by  houses  and  on  the  other  by  the 
churchyard  wall,  a  dirty  and  ill-favored  street,  and  there  by 
the  wall  waited  three  unmounted  troopers.  The  captain 
glanced  at  them,  and  glanced  at  Jock.  "Secure  him!"  he 
bade.  The  three  closed  on  Jock,  and  Jock,  with  prudent 
counsels  in  his  mind  and  peace  and  good-will  in  his  heart,  hit 
the  first  man  on  the  point  of  the  chin  and  knocked  him  into 
the  kennel,  just  as  he  had  knocked  Faintnot  Pedock. 

Beyond  doubt  this  was  the  briefest  and  most  amazing  fight 
in  which  Jock  had  ever  engaged,  for  having  knocked  his  man 
down,  he  said,  "Name  of  the  Lord!"  and  stood  staring  at 
him  in  horror.  With  his  hard-won  knowledge  of  the  frangi- 
bility  of  Puritan  skulls,  he  verily  believed  that  he  had  killed 
the  fellow,  and  he  looked  to  see  him  bleed  at  nose  and  mouth 
as  Pedock  had  bled.  While  Jock  waited,  albeit  but  for  an  in- 
stant, the  prostrate  man  rose  up  with  surprising  nimbleness 
and  hit  him  a  cuff  in  the  head  that  made  him  see  more  sunset 
clouds  than  ever  were  in  the  sky.  By  the  time  that  Jock  was 
convinced  of  the  glad  reality  of  this  guard's  being  alive,  and 
very  much  alive,  he  found  himself  "secured,"  as  the  captain 
had  phrased  it,  in  a  workmanlike  manner,  with  his  wrists  tied 
behind  him. 

"There's  no  need  of  this,"  Jock  protested.  "I'll  go  quietly 
whither  you  are  pleased  to  take  me.  I'll  give  you  my  word 
of  honor — " 


26  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

"Your  word?"  the  captain  answered  with  an  unpleasant 
laugh.     "  It's  not  worth  a  rush." 

Jock  opened  his  mouth  to  reply  with  some  heat,  and  then, 
thinking  better  of  it,  kept  silent,  partly  because  he  realized 
that  it  was  his  cousin's  honor  that  was  aspersed,  and  with  the 
Roundhead  captain's  estimate  of  that  fragile  commodity 
he  was  in  complete  accord,  and  partly  because  he  realized 
with  a  return  of  sense,  that  protests  would  not  mend 
matters. 

In  silence,  then,  Jock  went  whither  his  guards  led  him, 
down  the  narrow  street  that  skirted  the  walls  of  St.  Andrew's, 
where  overhead  casements  were  flung  back,  in  the  sequel  of 
the  scuffle,  and  dimly  seen  faces  looked  forth,  through  a  wind- 
ing lane  or  two,  along  the  wide  High  Street  where  the  waning 
light  was  stronger,  and  so  into  the  paved  court  of  the  King's 
Head  Inn,  where  candlelight  flickered  from  the  windows  and 
a  savor  of  cooking,  tantalizing  to  a  hungry  man,  floated  from 
the  kitchen  door. 

For  a  moment  Jock  was  in  terror  lest  some  of  the  tavern- 
folk  from  whom,  in  the  days  of  the  siege,  he  had  after  the 
manner  of  his  kind  levied  meat  and  drink,  might  recognize 
him  and  explain  to  his  captors  that  he  was  merely  a  Hether- 
ington,  not  their  Hetherington ;  but  he  suffered  no  such  be- 
trayal. Save  for  one  stableboy,  who,  seeing  small  likelihood 
of  Jock's  hitting  back,  cursed  him  fluently  but  impersonally 
for  a  pestilent  rogue  of  a  malignant  who  was  like  to  get  his 
deserts,  Jock  saw  no  one  of  the  tavern-folk,  and  his  stay  in 
that  danger  spot  was  mercifully  brief.  Scarcely  five  minutes 
from  the  time  that  he  and  his  captors  entered  the  court,  they 
were  riding  forth  again  on  troop-horses  that  had  been  wait- 
ing in  readiness. 

Jock  was  bound  into  the  saddle  of  the  sorriest  horse  of  the 
five,  and  his  bridle-rein  was  looped  over  the  saddlebow  of  one 
of  the  troopers,  but  at  least  he  was  turning  his  back  upon  St. 


INTO  THE  FIKE  27 

Andrew's  church.  Eagerly  he  noted  each  familiar  landmark 
of  the  High  Street,  —  the  Moot-hall,  St.  Ronwald's  church, 
the  green  bailey  of  the  Castle,  —  and  began  to  breathe  more 
freely  as  he  realized  that  the  little  squadron  was  indeed  headed 
for  the  East  Gate.  At  the  gate  he  had  a  qualm  of  apprehen- 
sion, for  there  they  halted  while  the  Roundhead  captain  dis- 
mounted and  collogued  with  the  officer  of  the  watch.  Jock 
studied  their  faces  in  the  light  of  the  torch  that  flared  in  the 
dark  arch  of  the  gateway,  and  feared  to  read  in  their  expres- 
sion some  trace  of  suspicion,  some  purpose  of  remanding  him 
to  his  old  prison,  but  his  fears  were  groundless.  The  Round- 
head captain  swung  into  his  saddle  again,  the  little  company 
followed  him  through  the  black  gateway,  and  Jock  drew  a 
long  sigh  of  relief  as  he  found  himself  at  last  outside  of  the 
walls  of  Colchester. 

By  the  time  that  they  had  crossed  the  river  and  turned 
northward  by  the  Ipswich  road  the  sunset  glow  had  faded 
and  the  first  faint  stars  were  kindled.  Across  the  level  fields 
the  trees  showed  as  black  masses  against  a  paler  sky.  The 
evening  breeze  was  abroad  and  brought  with  it  the  coolness 
of  the  wet  woods  and  the  distant  sea  and  the  odor  of  ripen- 
ing fruits  and  of  crisp,  autumnal  flowers.  Jock  drank  the  air 
with  the  thirst  of  a  country-bred  man  who  for  two  months 
and  more  had  been  stived  within  the  four  walls  of  a  reeking 
town.  He  strained  his  eyes  to  get  a  clearer  glimpse  of  the 
good,  familiar  sights  of  the  countryside,  —  a  thatched  stack 
in  an  open  field,  an  empty  wain  by  the  roadside,  a  herd  of 
cattle  that  broke  apart  with  tossing  horns  at  the  approach 
of  the  riders.  He  listened  for  all  the  little  noises  of  the  twi- 
light, —  the  swirr  of  a  bat's  wing,  the  twittering  hoot  of  a 
barn-owl,  the  cheep  of  night  insects.  He  watched  the  stars 
that  imperceptibly  grew  brighter,  clearer,  more  numerous. 
Each  moment  he  saw  a  half  score  of  new  lights  twinkle  out 
against  the  deepening  sky,  till  the  sky  was  black  and  across 


28  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

it  sparkled  the  belt  of  Orion  and  the  long  white  splendor  of 
the  Milky  Way. 

Thrice  the  squadron  had  ridden  through  little,  dark  vil- 
lages, drowsing  among  spicy  hedgerows,  beneath  the  guard- 
ianship of  their  dim  parish  churches,  and  twice  they  had 
forded,  with  some  splashing,  streams  where  the  stars  made 
pale  reflections.  Beyond  the  second  stream  they  turned  aside 
from  the  main  travelled  road  and  passed  at  a  slower  pace 
through  a  darkling  reach  of  close-grown  wood.  At  the  far- 
ther edge  was  a  gate,  which  one  of  the  troopers,  dismounting, 
swung  wide. 

After  they  had  passed  through  the  gate,  the  Roundhead 
captain,  as  if  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  pulled  up,  and 
when  Jock  came  alongside  of  him,  took  his  bridle-rein  from 
the  trooper  that  held  it,  and  signing  to  the  man  to  fall  back, 
rode  at  Jock's  side.  "Well,"  said  the  captain,  and  Jock  did 
not  fancy  his  tone,  "you  begin  to  recognize  the  landmarks, 
perhaps  ?  " 

Jock  looked  at  the  sky  above  him,  radiant  with  stars,  and 
at  the  dark  fields  that  stretched  about  him,  and  at  the  fringe 
of  black  wood  on  his  left  hand.  "How  else?"  he  said  at 
last,  since  he  was  expected  to  say  something. 

"You  know  whither  we  are  taking  you?" 

"  I  can  guess."    Jock  kept  on  the  windy  side  of  danger. 

"And  you  know  who  I  am?" 

Jock  writhed  in  his  saddle  while  he  prayed  for  en- 
lightenment. "I  have  my  suspicions,"  he  admitted  at  a 
venture. 

The  other  gave  a  short  laugh.  "On  my  soul,  your  years 
of  rakehelling  haven't  killed  your  homespun  caution!"  he 
exclaimed.  "I  doubt  if  you  know  me  from  the  devil.  I'll 
instruct  you.  I  am  Lambert  Wogan,  a  brother  by  marriage 
to  Rafe  Heyroun." 

"  Ah !    To  Rafe  Heyroun !"  munoured  Jock.    With  all  his 


INTO  THE  FIRE  29 

soul  he  wondered  who  Rafe  Heyroun  might  be  and  what 
were  his  relations  to  Captain  Hetherington. 

"Perhaps  you'll  say  you  never  heard  of  the  Heyrouns," 
Lambert  Wogan  suggested. 

"By  no  means!"  Jock  urged  hastily.  "I  have  heard  of 
them."  In  that  moment  his  mind  reverted  to  the  tomb  of 
the  Heyrouns  in  St.  Andrew's  church,  and  he  ventured  boldly 
and  desperately.  "It's  the  Heyrouns  of  Heronswood  you 
speak  of." 

"It  is,"  said  Wogan,  grimly.  "And  Philip  Heyroun  in 
special  you  will  speak  of." 

"He's  dead,"  said  Jock, with  a  bewildered  recollection  of 
Philip  Heyroun's  place  of  sepulchre. 

"He  is,"  said  Wogan,  "and  you  killed  him." 

It  was  unpardonable  of  Jock,  but  he  was  growing  dizzy- 
headed  with  the  accumulation  of  bewilderments,  and  at  this 
final  charge  that  he  had  killed  Philip  Heyroun  who,  as  the 
tablet  in  St.  Andrew's  bore  witness,  had  been  decently  in- 
terred three  and  forty  years  before,  he  gave  a  spasmodic 
gulp  of  laughter. 

Wogan  turned  on  him.  "Laugh  while  you  can,"  he  ad- 
vised. "You  may  laugh  the  other  side  of  your  face  ere  you 
are  quit  of  us." 

Jock  stopped,  choked  short  in  his  laughter.  Of  a  sudden, 
with  a  chilliness  as  of  cold  water  trickling  down  the  spine,  he 
had  realized  that  he  might  not  be  the  only  man  that  had 
waited  for  thirteen  years  to  settle  an  old  score  with  Captain 
Hetherington.  The  Heyrouns  of  Heronswood  —  the  Lord 
alone  knew  who  or  what  they  were  !  —  had  a  grudge  against 
the  Captain,  obviously,  and  now  he,  by  his  own  choice,  stood 
in  the  Captain's  place.  He  tried  to  stammer  a  denial  of 
Wogan's  charge  and  stopped,  thunderstruck.  What  might 
Captain  Hetherington  not  have  done  to  which  he,  Hethering- 
ton's  luckless  proxy,  now  stood  committed  ?    And  to  acknowl- 


30  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

edge  that  he  was  not  Captain  Hetherington  was  to  challenge 
instant  return  to  St.  Andrew's  and  Issachar  Pedock. 

Wogan  stayed  silent  till  Jock's  protest  had  died  in  a 
confusion  that  to  Jock's  own  ears  sounded  guilty.  "Well," 
said  Wogan,  then,  "it  may  comfort  you  to  know  that  I  sent 
a  message  this  afternoon  unto  the  Heyrouns,  to  tell  them  I 
had  good  hope  to  fetch  you  unto  them  this  night.  They're 
waiting  for  you  in  force,  yonder  at  Graystones.  And  ere 
you  come  into  their  presence  I'd  counsel  you  con  your  tale 
better."  So  saying,  he  tossed  Jock's  bridle-rein  to  the  near- 
est trooper  and  resumed  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  little 
column. 

The  fields  had  dwindled  now  to  a  lane  between  hedgerows 
with  a  dark  mass  of  buildings  looming  upon  the  right  hand. 
The  mass  grew  larger,  took  separate  shape  and  clearer  out- 
line. Through  the  shadow  of  a  towered  gatehouse,  all 
overhung  with  vines,  the  little  cavalcade  defiled  into  a 
courtyard,  where  two  close-grown  yew  trees  made  wedges  of 
blackness  in  the  night  that  was  less  black.  On  the  right  hand 
was  a  wall  that  must  enclose  a  garden,  Jock  knew,  for  he  caught 
the  homely  scent  of  thyme  and  carnation.  Before  him,  across 
the  courtyard,  rose  the  bulk  of  a  great  mansion,  but  in  the 
darkness  he  could  make  out  no  more  than  the  uneven  lines 
of  roof  upon  roof  and  gable  above  gable  against  the  back- 
ground of  the  starset  sky,  and  looking  lower,  he  could 
see  only  the  little  lights  that  here  and  there  gleamed  in  the 
dark  house-front.  On  the  left  hand  was  an  indistinct  pile  of 
lower  buildings,  and  speedily  he  found  that  thither  his  cap- 
tors were  heading.  By  a  passage,  paved  with  cobblestones 
and  roofed  with  what  must  be  an  overarching  story,  they 
entered  a  great  quadrangular  court,  where  stables  yawned 
with  black  open  doors  and  men  with  lanterns,  troopers  and 
grooms,  hurried  forward  to  look  to  the  horses. 

In  the  midst  of  the  confusion  of  dismounting,  Jock  found 


INTO  THE  FIRE  31 

himself  haled  unceremoniously  from  his  saddle  and,  in  the 
custody  of  one  of  the  grooms,  crossing  the  stable-court  toward 
what  must  be  a  wing  of  the  great  house.  Up  one  step,  where 
he  nearly  stumbled,  he  gained  a  little  porch  overgrown  with 
vines,  where  he  was  suffered  for  the  moment  to  halt.  Hard 
by  him  he  grew  aware  of  the  deeper  darkness  of  an  open  door 
and  beyond  he  sensed  that  there  was  space  that  echoed. 
Across  that  black  space,  each  moment  nearer,  he  heard  a 
man's  quick  step  approaching,  and  he  braced  himself  for 
whatever  might  come. 

The  man  set  foot  upon  the  porch,  a  dark,  tall  figure,  only 
half  seen  in  the  shadows.  "Briskly,  sirrah!"  he  spoke  in  a 
voice  of  authority  to  the  groom  who  stood  at  Jock's  elbow. 
"  Run  pray  Captain  Wogan  come  at  his  best  speed !  " 

As  if  by  habit  of  obedience  the  fellow  turned  and  ran  to- 
ward the  lights  that  had  receded  to  the  stable  doorway,  and 
instantly  Jock  felt  the  stranger's  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 
The  hand  touched  his  neck,  and  he  felt  that  it  was  feverishly 
hot.  "Quiet,  Hetherington ! "  muttered  a  voice  at  his  ear. 
"Only  hold  your  tongue,  and  as  I  live  I'll  bring  you  through 
in  safety.     You  will  hold  your  tongue?" 

Jock  twisted  about  quickly  and  tried  to  see  the  speaker's 
face,  but  in  the  dark  of  the  porch  all  was  dark  alike.  He  still 
was  straining  his  eyes  when  he  heard  Wogan's  step  clang  on 
the  cobbles  hard  at  hand.  In  that  moment  he  felt  the  stran- 
ger's grasp  on  his  shoulder  remove  and  heard  him  go  softly 
away  through  the  open  door  into  the  dark. 

No  time  was  granted  Jock  to  puzzle  a  meaning  into  the 
encounter,  for  next  instant  Wogan  had  stepped  upon  the 
porch  and  caught  him  by  the  arm.  Willy-nilly,  he  found 
himself  stumbling  through  the  doorway  into  a  wilderness  of 
black  passages  and  empty  lobbies.  Beyond  a  turning  where 
a  treacherous  step  almost  threw  him,  he  realized  that  a  door 
stood  ajar,  for  through  the  crack  he  could  see  a  thread  o^ 


32  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

candlelight,  and  he  heard  the  voices  of  men,  gruff  in  conver- 
sation. For  one  brief  moment  Jock  thought  yearningly  of 
the  shelter  and  comparative  safety  of  the  crypt  of  St.  Andrew's ; 
the  next  moment  Wogan  had  flung  the  door  wide. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  STRANGER  IN  A  STRANGE  LAND 

Lights  Jock  was  aware  of,  many  lights  that  dazzled  him, 
newly  come  as  he  was  from  the  dark,  and  then  as  he  blinked 
the  dazzle  from  his  eyes,  he  saw  the  faces  of  men.  There 
were  five  or  six  of  them,  he  judged,  but  for  the  moment  he 
did  not  individualize  them.  He  realized  only  that  a  given 
number  of  enemies  confronted  him,  and  then  in  an  instant  he 
focussed  his  attention  sharply,  for  one  of  the  men  spoke. 

It  was  a  slender,  little,  old  gentleman,  who  sat  at  a  great 
table  midway  of  the  room.  He  wore  an  old-fashioned  ruff, 
and  he  had  reverend  white  hair  and  delicate,  thin  features  — 
a  sort  of  Puritanized  saint,  in  brief.  "  I  pray  you,  sirs,"  he 
said  in  a  dry  but  courteous  voice,  "  to  your  seats  again ! 
'Twere  better  that  Captain  Hetherington "  —  he  inclined  his 
head  toward  Jock  —  "  should  realize  at  the  outset  that  he  is 
here  among  friends." 

Jock's  heart  gave  a  jump  at  these  words  that  implied  not 
only  that  his  ruse  was  undetected,  but  that  there  was 
likelihood  of  fair  treatment  for  the  pseudo-Captain  Hether- 
ington, and  then,  with  instinctive  caution,  he  held  himself  in 
check.  There  was  no  reason,  to  his  knowledge,  for  any  one 
to  have  a  tenderness  to  his  cousin,  the  Captain.  Warily  he 
measured  the  white-haired  gentleman  with  his  eyes,  while  he 
listened  to  the  shift  of  feet  as  the  men  about  him  reseated 
themselves.  Either  the  gentleman,  for  all  his  saintly  aspect, 
was  mocking  him,  Jock  reasoned,  or  he  hoped  to  get  some- 
thing out  of  him.  In  either  case,  to  gain  time  was  the  best 
j>  33 


34  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

that  Jock  could  hope  for,  so  he  fronted  the  gentleman  steadily 
and  said  nothing. 

"  I  pray  you,  too,  be  seated.  Captain,"  bade  the  old  gentle- 
man, with  a  gesture  to  a  stool  that  stood  opposite  him  at  the 
table.  "And,  Lambert,  Captain  Hetherington  will  answer 
questions  more  freely,  perhaps,  if  his  hands  are  freed." 

There  was  a  moment  of  disapproving  inactivity  on  Captain 
Wogan's  part,  and  then  a  rumbling  voice  cried:  "'Wounds, 
Lambert,  are  ye  turned  to  stone?  Do  whatever  folly  Mr. 
Inchcome  bids.  He  has  the  ordering  of  the  matter,"  and  so 
trailed  off  sultrily. 

Jock  shot  a  quick  glance  at  the  speaker,  who  sat  in  a  chair 
next  to  the  white-haired  Inchcome.  He,  too,  was  an  old 
man,  past  sixty,  it  would  seem,  but  hale  and  stalwart,  with 
a  gray  beard  like  a  bush,  and  hands  clenched  on  the  table 
before  him  that  suggested  sledge  hammers. 

Beyond  doubt  the  second  old  gentleman  got  his  way,  after 
his  own  fashion,  as  satisfactorily  as  did  courteous  Mr.  Inch- 
come. Wogan  freed  Jock's  wrists  without  a  second  bidding, 
and  Jock,  with  a  curtly  civil  "  I  thank  you  !"  to  the  two  men 
at  the  table,  sat  down  opposite  them  on  the  designated  stool. 
He  was  minded  to  say  bluntly,  "What  would  you  of  me?" 
but  remembering  that  he  stood  in  his  cousin's  place,  and 
chafing  at  the  limitations  that  it  laid  upon  him,  he  kept  to 
silence  as  his  discreetest  course. 

At  Inchcome's  elbow  stood  a  flagon  of  canary,  and  in  cour- 
teous fashion  he  filled  a  cup  and  passed  it  to  Jock,  while  he 
asked  some  trivial  questions  about  the  state  of  the  road  from 
Colchester.  Jock  eyed  him  sharply.  It  was  plain  that  the 
man  wanted  something  of  him,  and  he  would  not  be  a  pleasant 
man  to  deny.  That,  however,  was  to  be  considered  later. 
For  the  present  Jock  was  thankful  for  the  wine,  and  thank- 
ful for  the  moment's  respite  thus  granted  him  in  which  to 
take  his  bearings.    He  drank  slowly  and  answered  Inchcome's 


A  STRANGER  IN  A  STRANGE  LAND        36 

commonplace  questions  with  commonplace  answers,  while  he 
made  a  swift  and  stealthy  survey  of  the  room  in  which  he 
found  himself  and  of  the  men  that  surrounded  him. 

It  was  a  large  hall  in  which  he  was  seated,  a  very  old  hall, 
paved  with  stone  and  wainscotted  and  ceiled  in  black  oak. 
The  windows  were  few,  many-paned,  and  set  so  high  in  the 
wall  that  even  by  daylight  the  room  must  needs  be  gloomy. 
A  staircase  with  a  carved  balustrade  ascended  on  the  right 
to  an  open  gallery  full  of  deep  shadows,  and  on  the  left  was 
a  great  fireplace  of  stone,  with  a  coat  of  arms  wrought  upon 
the  tall  chimney-piece. 

On  the  broad  hearth,  which  was  raised  a  step  above  the 
floor,  a  low  fire  smouldered,  and  before  the  fire  stood  a  clean- 
shaven man  of  thirty,  with  chestnut  hair  and  light  blue  eyes 
that  blinked,  —  to  look  at,  a  pallid  copy  of  a  type  of  swaggerer 
that  Jock  had  not  expected  to  find  in  the  Puritan  camp.  Near 
by,  on  a  seat  built  against  the  wall,  somewhat  in  shadow,  a 
second  gentleman  of  about  the  same  age  sat  and  smoked  a 
long  pipe.  Because  of  the  shadow  Jock  could  not  see  his  face 
clearly,  but  he  got  an  impression  that  the  man  was  of  a  dark 
favor,  that  he  wore  mustaches  and  a  tuft  of  beard,  that  he  had 
keen  eyes,  and  at  that  moment,  becoming  aware  that  the 
keen  eyes,  in  their  turn,  were  studying  him  with  dispassionate 
amusement,  Jock  carried  his  scrutiny  elsewhere. 

He  passed  over  the  two  men  that  sat  opposite  him.  Inch- 
come  and  the  other,  and  took  a  hurried  glimpse  at  the  right- 
hand  end  of  the  table.  He  could  see  that  a  man  was  seated 
there,  but  a  candle  stood  between  them  so  that  he  could  be 
sure  of  but  two  points,  namely,  that  the  man  was  young  and 
that  he  wore  a  parson's  bands.  Close  by  him,  seated  on  the 
table,  was  a  young  fellow  in  the  dress  of  a  lieutenant  of  horse, 
who,  unless  appearances  were  deceitful,  was  the  true-born 
son  of  the  gentleman  with  the  gray  beard,  and  near  this  young 
lieutenant,  still  disapproving,  sat  Captain  Wogan. 


36  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Those  seven  made  the  tale  of  men  in  the  room,  and  Jock 
wondered,  with  a  keen  appreciation  of  all  it  meant  to  him, 
if  it  was  one  of  them  that  had  whispered  to  him  in  the  dark 
of  the  porch,  and  if  so,  which  one  ?  Could  it  have  been  Inch- 
come,  whose  friendliness,  for  whatever  purpose  put  on,  had 
so  far  won  for  Jock  unexpected  courtesy?  Jock  flashed  a 
look  at  the  reverend  old  gentleman,  and,  with  a  sense  of  dis- 
may, realized  as  he  met  the  sharp  old  eyes,  that  while  he  took 
stock  of  the  other  men,  Inchcome  had  been  quietly  and 
thoroughly  taking  stock  of  him. 

Jock  set  down  his  cup  and  leaned  forward  with  his  folded 
arms  on  the  table.  "Look  you,"  he  said,  speaking  in  blunt 
contrariety  to  his  cousin's  part,  "you  didn't  bring  me  from 
Colchester  solely  to  question  me  touching  the  roads,  did 
you?" 

The  gray-bearded  man  muttered  something  about  "cursed 
insolence,"  but  Inchcome  smiled,  a  pale  and  rather  wicked 
smile.  "On  my  word.  Captain,  you  come  to  the  matter  in 
hand  at  full  gallop,"  he  said.  "  Well,  if  you  are  eager  to  treat 
of  it,  hark  back  in  your  mind  to  what  befell  when  you  were 
last  here  at  Graystones." 

This  was,  of  course,  the  last  thing  that  Jock  was  capable  of 
doing.  He  answered  Inchcome's  words  with  a  look  of  blank 
unintelligence. 

"  No  doubt,"  —  Inchcome  was  at  pains  to  explain  further, 
—  "  you  are  ready  to  make  the  reparation  that  lies  in  your 
power." 

"'Twere  for  the  good  of  your  soul,"  struck  in  the  young 
parson  from  his  remote  end  of  the  table. 

"  And  'twill  be  for  the  detriment  of  your  body  if  you  don't !" 
growled  the  gray-bearded  man. 

Here  was  a  dilemma  for  a  hapless  gentleman  volunteer! 
Jock  rubbed  his  hand  along  the  back  of  his  neck,  which  began 
to  feel  hot,  while  he  wondered  what  wrong  it  was  that  he,  in 


A  STKANGER  IN  A  STRANGE  LAND        37 

his  cousin's  place,  was  called  upon  to  repair.  There  might 
even  be  a  woman  in  the  case,  —  by  no  means  unlikely,  where 
Captain  Hetherington  was  concerned.  Jock  cast  a  startled 
look  round  the  half  circle  of  faces,  and  in  every  man  saw  an 
injured  husband  or  an  injured  father  or  both.  All  the  while 
he  felt  that  not  merely  the  back  of  his  neck  but  his  whole  face 
was  growing  hot,  and  this  crimson  token  of  ingenuousness,  he 
judged  rightly,  would  be  construed  as  a  shamed  admission  of 
guilt.  "I  don't  know  what  you  mean."  He  blundered  out 
the  words  in  desperation,  and  realized  their  banality  as  he 
heard  them  uttered.     "What  did  I  do  here  at  Graystones?" 

"What  did  you  do  I"  shouted  the  lieutenant  of  horse,  furi- 
ously, and  the  same  furious  demand,  though  made  in  silence, 
came  from  every  man  in  the  room. 

Jock  felt  the  tension  of  the  atmosphere  and  made  a  wild 
attempt  at  general  defence.  "Whatever  I  did,  sirs,  war  is 
a  rough  game  and  — " 

"War!"  thundered  the  gray-bearded  man.  "What  has 
war  to  do  with  it,  you  rascally  thief?" 

To  Jock,  who  had  steeled  himself  to  bear  much  harder 
names,  "thief"  seemed  at  that  moment  a  term  of  positive 
endearment.  He  smiled  back  at  the  chafing  speaker  and  said 
in  his  own  person,  with  vast  relief,  "Is  that  all?" 

Afterward,  viewing  the  scene  dispassionately,  Jock  himself 
admitted  that  this  remark  was  inopportune,  not  to  say  imper- 
tinent, and  the  gray-bearded  man,  at  the  moment  of  its  mak- 
ing, had  no  doubt  of  the  impertinence.  He  rose  up  snorting 
and  took  an  angry  turn  across  the  hall.  He  walked  with  a 
staff,  for  he  had  a  wooden  leg,  and  the  staff  and  the  leg  tap, 
tapped  on  the  floor  in  a  grotesque  rhythm  that  for  some  time 
thereafter  bore  a  part  in  Jock's  most  intimate  nightmares. 

"Get  about  your  business,  Esdras  Inchcome,"  the  gray- 
bearded  man  flung  over  his  shoulder,  as  he  still  paced  up 
and  down.     "Find  out  what  you  seek  to  know,  and  find  it 


38  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

speedily,  or  a  fire  on  me  if  I  do  not  take  the  fellow  in 
hand  myself!" 

With  this  pleasant  prospect  before  him,  Jock  faced  Inch- 
come  again,  and  caught  a  malign  amusement  in  the  old  gen- 
tleman's eyes.  "You'd  better  answer  my  questions,  eh, 
Captain?"  Inchcome  asked.  "Come,  now,  what  have  you 
done  with  the  little  deal  box?" 

Jock  prayed  for  the  floor  to  open  and  engulf  him,  as  the 
one  way  out  of  the  difficulties  that  beset  him,  but  as  no  mira- 
cle was  wrought  in  his  behalf,  he  could  only  say,  "  What  deal 
box?" 

As  he  had  expected,  there  came  a  growl  from  the  gray- 
bearded  man,  and  a  curse  from  the  lieutenant,  and  a  groan 
from  the  parson.  Then  Esdras  Inchcome,  with  the  tried 
patience  of  one  dealing  with  a  refractory  child,  took  up  the 
parable.  "  You  have  a  short  memory,  Captain,  for  so  young 
a  man.  Bethink  you !  On  the  night  of  the  seventh  of  June 
you  went  to  the  chamber  of  Philip  Heyroun  — " 

"He's  dead,"  said  Jock,  fretfully;  and  as  he  said  the  words 
knew  the  inevitable  answer,  even  before  the  gray-bearded 
man  snarled,  "Thanks  to  you,  you  cut-throat!" 

Jock  subsided,  and  Inchcome  continued :  "  On  the  table  by 
Mr.  Heyroun's  bed  stood  a  little  deal  box  that  contained 
papers.  You  took  that  box,  and  next  day  when  you  left 
Gray  stones  you  conveyed  it  away  with  you.  Now  what  have 
you  done  with  that  box  and  its  contents  ? " 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  appalled  on  the  part  of 
Jock,  expectant  on  the  part  of  his  captors.  Then  Inchcome 
said  quietly,  "  I  trust  you  did  not  destroy  the  papers  —  for 
your  own  sake." 

There  was  that  in  his  quiet  tone  that  made  Jock's  mouth 
go  dry.  "I  —  I  didn't  destroy  them,"  he  said  hastily  and 
truthfully,  though  not  quite  in  the  sense  in  which  the  words 
were  taken. 


A  STRANGER  IN  A  STRANGE  LAND  39 

"That's  well,"  said  Inchcome,  encouragingly.  "No  doubt 
now  we  can  clap  up  a  bargain.  You  have  the  box,  to  be  sure, 
Captain,  but "  —  he  gave  an  involuntary  chuckle  —  "  you'll 
observe  that  we  have  you.  However,  do  you  tell  us  where 
we  can  find  our  box,  let  us  have  it  safe  in  our  hands  once 
more,  and  you  shall  go  hence  unransomed  and  unharmed." 

Before  Jock  had  time  to  grasp  the  good  fortune  that  awaited 
the  veritable  possessor  of  the  deal  box,  a  quiet  voice  from  the 
fireside  ejaculated,  "Now  renounce  me  if  he  shall!"  It  was 
the  man  with  the  long  pipe  who  spoke.  He  had  not  shifted 
his  position  nor  taken  the  pipe  from  his  mouth.  His  eyes, 
fixed  on  Jock,  were  still  amused,  and  because  he  seemed 
amused  where  the  rest  were  angry,  Jock  distrusted  him. 

"Hold  your  peace,  Rafe!"  cried  the  gray-bearded  man, 
and  Inchcome  began  a  civil  protest,  and  the  young  parson 
groaned  again. 

The  quiet  man  smoked  placidly  and  said,  between  puffs: 
"I  would  not  bear  Captain  Hetherington  in  hand  with  false 
promises.  When  you  are  done  with  him,  Mr.  Inchcome,  I 
shall,  with  my  brother  Lambert's  good  leave,  speak  with  him 
at  some  length." 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  have  I  done  to  you  ?  "  asked 
Captain  Hetherington's  badgered  substitute. 

"Your  idea  of  humor  doesn't  commend  itself  to  me,"  an- 
swered the  man  with  the  pipe,  and  having  made  this  cryptic 
utterance,  smoked  in  silence. 

This  was  the  husband,  surely,  Jock  had  reverted  to  his  first 
theory,  when  the  young  lieutenant,  fuming  where  he  sat, 
burst  out,  "  And  if  my  brother  does  not  settle  the  score  with 
you,  you  cowardly  mongrel,  I'll  do  it  myself." 

Jock  turned  upon  the  man  of  his  own  profession  and  spoke 
in  its  dialect,   "Who  a'  twenty  devils'  name  are  you?" 

"  The  uncle  of  the  child  that  you  near  drowned  in  the  horse- 
trough,"  came  the  amazing  rejoinder. 


40  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

There  were  certain  vices  of  his  cousin  Hetherington  that, 
even  to  save  his  skin,  Jock  was  loath  to  shoulder.  "  I  did  no 
such  thing ! "  he  cried,  and  felt  once  more  the  incriminating 
hotness  in  the  region  of  the  neck. 

The  lieutenant  promptly  denied  the  denial,  and  a  brisk 
wrangle  seemed  imminent,  when  Inchcome  struck  in.  "Be 
silent,  Phil!"  he  bade,  "and,  Rafe,  this  is  no  time  for  pri- 
vate vengeances.  I  promise  Captain  Hetherington,  and  you, 
Martin  Heyroun"  —  he  turned  to  the  gray-bearded  man  — 
"  pledge  your  word  also  that  he  shall  be  set  free  when  he  gives 
up  the  deal  box.     Now,  Captain,  do  you  accept  our  terms?" 

Jock  looked  to  the  roof  for  inspiration,  looked  to  the  floor, 
and  up  again  at  the  faces  that  watched  him.  With  the  best 
will  in  the  world  he  could  not  materialize  a  deal  box  and  its 
unknown  papers  for  the  mere  ordering,  and  to  explain  his 
inability  was  to  sign  his  own  warrant  for  recommitment  to 
St.  Andrew's.  As  a  last  resource,  he  fenced  for  time.  "  Give 
me  till  to-morrow  to  think  upon  the  matter,"  he  begged. 

"We'll  give  you  two  minutes,"  Martin  Heyroun  took  the 
words  from  Inchcome's  mouth. 

Jock  looked  beseechingly  from  one  man  to  another,  as  they 
gathered  round  the  table,  but  in  all  the  faces  read  the  same 
decision.  He  let  his  eyes  drop  to  the  stone  floor,  and  rubbing 
one  hand  along  the  edge  of  the  table,  sat  waiting.  He  won- 
dered how  many  more  seconds  of  the  two  minutes  were  left 
to  him,  and  he  wondered  how  his  cousin  would  have  borne 
himself  in  the  like  predicament,  and  he  wondered  how  and 
where  Martin  Heyroun  had  come  by  his  wooden  leg.  He 
marvelled  at  the  slight  things  he  found  to  think  about  in  that 
long  two  minutes,  while  all  the  time  he  strove  in  vain  to  bring 
his  mind  to  work  upon  the  matter  that  was  urgent. 

"Your  answer.  Captain!"    Inchcome  questioned  sharply. 

With  a  start  Jock  raised  his  head.  The  two  minutes  of 
grace  were  ended;   the  same  circle  of  implacable  faces  was 


A  STRANGER  IN  A  STRANGE  LAND  41 

round  him;  and  for  the  life  of  him  he  did  not  know  what 
to  say.  Of  necessity,  he  spoke  the  truth,  "  I  can't  give  you 
your  deal  box." 

"Can't!"  shouted  Lieutenant  Phil.  "You  coistril,  you 
mean  you  won't!" 

Half  the  men,  it  seemed,  came  in  on  that  cry,  but  Martin 
Heyroun,  smiting  upon  the  stone  floor  with  staff  and  wooden 
leg,  drowned  them  all  with  his  clamor.  "Enough  of  shilly- 
shallying!" he  cried.  "Lambert  Wogan,  I  trust  to  you. 
Get  the  truth  out  of  this  knave,  if  you  have  to  cut  it  out 
with  a  rope's  end !" 

At  that  threat  Jock  started  to  his  feet,  and  half  risen,  felt 
Wogan's  hold  fasten  on  his  throat.  Instinctively  he  struck 
one  unavailing  blow,  and  then  he  saw  the  dark  roof  of  the 
hall  go  sliding  past  him,  and  Wogan's  face  against  the  dark- 
ness, and  heard  a  crash,  as  he  landed  on  his  back  on  the  table. 
He  tried  to  get  footing  on  the  slippery  floor,  tried  to  pluck 
away  the  hands  at  his  throat,  and  tried  in  vain.  He  was 
being  choked  to  death,  and  for  mere  life's  sake  he  made 
confession.  "Ha'  done!"  he  gasped.  "I'm  not  Captain 
Hetherington." 

If  it  had  been  a  lie,  it  would  have  been  a  vastly  clever  one. 
In  sheer  amazement  at  this  least  expected  statement,  Wogan 
relaxed  his  hold,  and  Jock,  rolling  out  from  under  his  hands, 
rolled  off  the  table  and  landed  on  the  floor.  There  he  sat  up, 
still  gasping,  and  refastened  his  doublet.  He  thought  that 
his  spine  was  broken,  he  knew  that  his  windpipe  was  per- 
manently injured,  and  with  all  his  heart  he  longed  for  St. 
Andrew's. 

An  instant's  silence  had  fallen  on  Jock's  surprising  an- 
nouncement, but  now  Lieutenant  Phil  burst  out  laughing. 
"Now  afore  me,  that  lie  was  well  thought  on!"  he  cried. 

"As  it  chances,  'tis  the  truth,"  Jock  answered  wearily.  "I 
am  not  Captain  Hetherington." 


42  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

"Then  who  are  you?"  demanded  Wogan,  and  Martin 
Heyroun  growled  a  kind  of  echo.  Esdras  Inchcome  said 
nothing,  but  he  leaned  forward  upon  the  table,  and  shading 
his  eyes  with  one  hand,  studied  Jock. 

"I'm  called  John  Hetherington,  true  enough,"  said  Jock. 
"A  cadet  of  the  house,  a  cousin  to  your  Captain  Hethering- 
ton. I  took  his  place  because  if  I'd  stayed  in  St.  Andrew's 
—  the  guards  had  a  grudge  against  me ;  they  were  going  to 
beat  me  to-night,  maybe  kill  me."  As  the  moment  seemed 
propitious,  he  rose  to  his  feet.  "  If  it  please  you,  gentlemen," 
he  said  with  the  ghost  of  a  smile,  "after  all,  St.  Andrew's 
likes  me  better  than  Graystones.  I  pray  you,  send  me  back 
to  Colchester  as  speedily  as  may  be." 

Again  there  was  a  moment  of  silence,  then  Esdras  Inch- 
come,  unchallenged,  took  up  his  r61e  of  spokesman.  "You 
are  a  nimble-witted  gentleman,  sir,"  he  said  gravely,  "but 
this  desperate  shift,  I  promise  you,  will  not  better  your  posi- 
tion. And  as  to  your  identity,  proof  is  not  far  to  seek.  Come, 
Philip  Heyroun,  you  were  detained  at  Graystones  in  the  time 
of  Captain  Hetherington's  tenancy.  Tell  us,  now,  is  this  man 
Captain  Hetherington?" 

At  that  the  chestnut-haired  man,  who  had  stood  somewhat 
in  the  rear,  stepped  up  to  Jock  at  the  table.  Jock  faced  him, 
with  the  confidence  of  a  man  who  sees  a  sure  deliverance. 
"You  never  set  eyes  on  me  in  yoiu-  life,  did  you,  sir?"  he 
said. 

The  chestnut-haired  man  called  Philip  looked  at  Jock  with 
blinking  eyes,  surveyed  him  thoroughly  from  his  worn  boots 
to  his  dishevelled  dark  head.  Then  he  turned  to  Esdras  Inch- 
come.  "Why,"  said  he,  "what  question  can  be  made  here? 
Surely,  I  should  know  Captain  Hetherington  by  now,  and  'tis 
Captain  Hetherington  that  stands  before  you." 


CHAPTER  V 


BY   CREDIBLE  TESTIMONY 


For  the  second  time  that  evening  Jock  had  a  discomfort- 
able  sensation,  as  of  a  bucket  of  water  being  dashed  down  his 
back.  He  looked  blankly  at  the  chestnut-haired  Philip,  who 
returned  the  scrutiny  with  blinking  eyes ;  he  looked  at  Esdras 
Inchcome,  who  had  leaned  back  in  his  chair  as  if  relieved  of 
a  momentary  doubt;  he  looked  at  Rafe  Heyroun,  who  for 
the  first  time  had  taken  the  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  ceased 
to  seem  amused.  He  had  a  strange  sense  of  the  faces  coming 
back  after  a  moment  of  mistiness,  so  clearly  and  distinctly 
that  they  startled  him,  as  if  they  were  new  and  unexpected 
apparitions. 

"Well?"  Inchcome  threw  the  monosyllable  into  the  silence. 

"He's  lying,"  said  Jock.  There  was  in  his  tone  no  robust 
conviction  but  weary  bewilderment.  On  an  instinct  natural 
to  one  that  had  been  five  years  a  soldier,  he  turned  from  the 
civilians,  who  were  beyond  his  comprehension,  to  the  two 
men  that  wore  buff  coats.  "  You  may  stand  some  day  where 
I  stand  to-night,"  he  said.  "  Now  do  me  bare  justice  as  you 
hope  for  justice  then.  Sure,  others  than  that  fellow  yonder 
saw  my  cousin  when  he  was  at  this  house.  They  cannot  all 
find  it  to  their  profit  to  lie  as  he  has  done — " 

"Do  you  look  for  me  to  swallow  this?"  demanded  Philip. 

Jock  wheeled  upon  him.  "You  dare  not  front  me  with 
other  witnesses !"  he  cried  with  a  vehemence  that  bore  down 
the  other's  expostulation. 

43 


44  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

For  a  few  ensuing  moments  there  was  hubbub  in  the  room, 
while  Phihp  raged  at  Jock's  free  use  of  the  verb  "to  Ue,"  and 
Jock  clamored  unappeasably  for  more  witnesses  to  his  iden- 
tity, and  Lieutenant  Phil  threatened  much  unpleasantness 
to  Jock  if  he  did  not  hold  his  tongue,  and  Martin  Heyroun 
generously  blackguarded  every  one  in  sight.  As  nothing 
short  of  a  gag  was  likely  to  silence  Jock,  the  dispute  might 
have  gone  on  indefinitely,  had  it  not  received  a  new  turn  from 
Rafe  Heyroun.  Still  puffing  at  his  pipe,  that  philosophic 
gentleman  sauntered  across  the  hall,  and  had  sauntered  half- 
way up  the  stairs,  when  the  chestnut-haired  Philip,  as  if 
acting  on  a  premonition,  turned  and  spied  him. 

"Where  are  you  going?"   cried  Philip,  angrily. 

"  Dear  cousin,"  drawled  Rafe,  and  his  well-controlled  voice, 
falling  on  the  clamor,  caused  a  sudden  stillness,  "keep  that 
tone  for  Hetherington,  and  for  Hetherington  only,  you  were 
best.  Father,"  —  he  turned  to  Martin  Heyroun,  —  "under 
your  favor,  I  am  going  to  fetch  hither  my  mother,  and  Mis- 
tress Blanche  Mallory,  and  Althea  Lovewell.  They  were  all 
at  Graystones  in  June,  and  they  will  know  if  this  be  Captain 
Hetherington." 

"Cousin!"  cried  the  young  parson,  starting  to  his  feet, 
and  "You  doubt  my  word?"    cried  Philip,  simultaneously. 

In  the  ominous  quiet  of  the  hall  Rafe  answered  with  a  civil 
little  bow,  "  My  good  Philip,  the  best  of  us  may  be  mistaken," 
and  so,  still  pulling  at  his  pipe,  strolled  on  up  the  stairs  and 
vanished  among  the  shadows  of  the  gallery. 

But  though  Rafe  Heyroun  vanished,  his  work  remained. 
In  open  suspicion  of  one  another,  the  occupants  of  the  hall  fell 
silently  into  two  camps.  Martin  He3rroun,  his  son.  Lieuten- 
ant Phil,  and  Lambert  Wogan  drew  over  to  the  fire,  where 
they  conferred  in  low  voices,  while  the  chestnut-haired  Philip 
stood  with  the  young  parson,  his  brother,  it  seemed,  at  the 
right-hand  end  of  the  table,  and  explained  audibly  in  what 


BY  CEEDIBLE  TESTIMONY  45 

cruel  fashion  he  had  been  misjudged.  Meantime  Esdras 
Inchcome,  as  one  holding  to  neither  party,  remained  seated 
in  his  old  place  at  the  table  and  drank  a  cup  of  canary  with 
slow  relish. 

Jock  observed  these  details  with  nice  exactness,  for  he  was 
likely  to  have  nothing  but  details  from  which  to  gather  the 
significance  of  events.  Sitting  in  his  old  seat,  which  he  had 
resumed  unhindered,  he  watched  the  men  about  him,  while 
he  tried  to  fathom  the  obscurity  of  the  family  intrigue  in  which 
he  seemed  to  be  involved.  Why  should  this  Philip  have 
lied  about  his  identity  ?  And  what  would  be  the  consequences 
to  him  if  the  lie  were  not  disproved?  In  spite  of  himself 
Jock  felt  his  courage  waver  as  he  looked  upon  his  captors. 
There  was  no  reason,  let  alone  mercy,  in  any  man  there,  save 
Inchcome,  and  Inchcome,  with  his  politic  courtesy  and  un- 
ruffled temper,  he  feared  the  most  of  all.  He  felt  a  momen- 
tary relief  as  he  thought  on  Rafe  Heyroun,  who  at  least  had 
granted  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  but  next  moment, 
schooled  by  his  experience  of  Inchcome  and  of  others,  he 
wondered  what  personal  aim  Rafe  might  have  in  view. 

In  a  corner  of  the  hall,  where  it  was  dusky,  stood  a  clock, 
and  Jock's  eyes,  growing  wonted  to  the  lighting  of  the  room, 
were  able  to  read  the  dial.  It  was  twenty  minutes  to  eleven. 
Afar  in  the  shadows  of  the  gallery  a  door  slammed  faintly, 
and  then,  nearer  at  hand,  a  woman's  voice  spoke,  and  was 
silent.  Jock  rose  to  his  feet,  and  leaning  heavily  with  one 
hand  on  the  table,  strained  his  eyes  upon  the  stairway  where 
the  witnesses  who  should  save  or  destroy  him  must  first 
appear.  Round  him  the  men  fell  silent,  and  in  the  silence 
could  be  heard  in  the  gallery  the  sound  of  footsteps  and  the 
rustle  of  women's  garments. 

Rafe  Heyroun,  a  tall  and  dark  figure,  reappeared  upon  the 
staircase,  and,  in  a  gallant  manner  that  was  good  to  see, 
handed  his  mother  down  into  the  hall.    She  was  a  little  old 


46  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

gentlewoman,  like  a  very  pretty  and  well-kept  doll,  with 
dainty  gray  ringlets  and  dainty  pink  cheeks,  and  she 
wore  a  gown  of  flowered  tabby  that  rustled  about  her  feet. 
Behind  her,  walking  slowly  and  with  eyes  bent  down,  was  a 
tall  girl  of  gracious  figure,  and  behind  her,  again,  came  an 
erect  and  set-faced  woman  of  middle  age,  at  sight  of  whom, 
Jock  could  have  sworn,  Inchcome  suppressed  a  groan,  and 
Martin  He3a'oun  let  slip  an  audible  curse. 

"Good  Mistress  Heyroun,"  said  Inchcome,  in  a  voice  like 
honey,  "  I  am  sorry  that  your  rest  has  been  broken  thus  need- 
lessly." 

"Ay,  needlessly  indeed.  Sister  Difficult,"  Martin  Heyroun 
struck  in.     "This  dull  business  does  not  concern  you." 

"And  does  it  not  concern  me?"  asked  Difficult  Heyroun, 
in  a  voice  that  made  Jock  thankful  that  the  table  was  between 
them.  "  Am  I  not  sister  by  marriage  to  our  poor,  dead  Philip, 
who  I  trust  is  in  a  better  place?  Am  I  not  mother  to  those 
two  innocent  boys  whom  you  would  rob  of  their  rightful 
heritage,  you  and  Esdras  Inchcome  yonder  with  his  empty 
prate  of  the  law  ?  Bear  you  both  in  mind  the  judgment  that 
the  Scriptures  denounce  on  those  that  go  about  to  despoil 
the  widow  and  the  orphans!" 

"Mother!  I  do  entreat  you!"  here  interrupted  that 
lusty  orphan,  the  chestnut-haired  Philip. 

"Hold  your  peace!"  bade  the  mother,  sweeping  down 
from  the  staircase.  "You  are  too  unworldly,  Philip.  They 
will  despoil  you  amongst  them."  She  sat  herself  down  firmly, 
militantly,  on  the  nearest  stool.  "  For  mine  own  poor  part," 
she  said,  "  I  do  not  quit  this  room  till  with  mine  own  eyes  I 
have  seen  my  poor,  dead  brother's  lawful  will." 

In  the  dismayed  silence  that  followed  Jock  felt,  for  the 
first  time  and  most  surprisingly,  that  he  and  the  assembled 
men  of  the  Heyroun  family  were  one  in  sympathy.  Captors 
and  captive,  they  cowered  alike  before  that  resolute  gentle- 


BY  CREDIBLE  TESTIMONY  47 

woman  and  looked  helplessly  to  one  another  for  support. 
Inchcome,  as  usual,  manned  the  breach. 

"Good  mistress,"  said  he,  and  coughed,  "we  have  not  yet 
recovered  PhiUp  Heyroun's  will." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Mistress  Difficult  Heyroun  asked  suspi- 
ciously. "  You  have  the  rogue  that  stole  it.  If  I  were  a  man, 
he'd  have  delivered  up  that  will  an  hour  ago!"  She  fixed 
her  glance  on  Jock  as  she  spoke,  and  Jock  paid  her  the  com- 
pliment of  having  not  the  faintest  doubt  as  to  the  truth  of 
her  last  assertion. 

Once  again  Inchcome  lifted  his  voice,  though  even  he  found 
it  no  easy  task  to  make  head  against  the  spate  of  Mistress 
Difficult's  arguments.  Still,  he  contrived  to  explain  that, 
before  the  missing  papers  could  be  demanded  of  the  prisoner, 
a  preliminary  matter  of  identification  must  be  gone  through 
with,  and  he  suggested,  even  he  speaking  vaguely  and  afar 
off,  that  in  this  matter  Mistress  Difficult,  with  all  her  apti- 
tude, could  be  of  little  service,  inasmuch  as  she  had  never  in 
her  life  set  eyes  on  Captain  Hetherington. 

"What  of  that?"  cried  Mistress  Difficult.  "I've  heard 
my  son  PhiUp's  description  of  the  villain." 

At  this  rate  the  dispute  might  have  gone  on  all  night,  had 
the  men  been  left  unaided  to  cope  with  Mistress  Difficult,  but 
luckily  the  little  gentlewoman  in  the  flowered  tabby  here  took 
a  hand.  "  'Tis  bitter  hard,"  she  complained,  "  that  I  should 
be  summoned  hither  to  no  purpose.  What  would  you  of  me, 
husband,  or  was  it  but  another  of  Rafe's  follies?" 

Inchcome  turned  to  her  with  relief.  "Do  you  recognize 
this  man?"  he  questioned  hurriedly. 

Before  the  little  gentlewoman  could  reply.  Difficult  Heyroun 
cried  sharply,  "Recognize?  Good  lack,  Sister  Henrietta, 
how  can  you  look  to  recognize  man  or  beast  —  at  your  age, 
and  you  without  your  spectacles!" 

At  that  the  little  gentlewoman  flushed  and  bridled,  and 


48  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

cried  in  a  shrill  and  ungentle  little  voice:  "At  my  age,  in 
sooth !  Fie  upon  you,  Sister  Difficult  I  What  have  I  to  do 
with  spectacles,  I  that  have  as  clear  sight  as  any  girl !" 

Mistress  Difficult  made  no  reply  in  words,  but  she  turned 
up  her  eyes,  lifted  her  hands,  and  sniffed  audibly. 

By  this  womanly  pantomime  Jock  was  effectually  robbed 
of  one  witness,  for  Mistress  Henrietta  instantly  cried,  "And 
in  proof  thereof,  I  can  see  well,  even  from  where  I  stand,  that 
yonder  man  is  Captain  Hetherington." 

A  subtle  elation  could  be  felt  in  Philip  Heyroun's  camp,  a 
subtle  depression  in  that  of  Martin  He3Toun.  "  Are  you  well 
assured,  mother?"  urged  Rafe.     "'Tis  a  grave  matter." 

Promptly  the  little  gentlewoman  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
handkerchief,  and  saying  that  'twas  hard  that  her  own  son 
should  side  with  her  detractors,  fell  to  weeping  softly.  Dif- 
ficult Heyroun  sniffed  again,  and  the  little  gentlewoman 
stopped  in  her  weeping  to  say  vehemently,  "  If  I  was  to  die 
this  moment,  I'd  declare  with  my  parting  breath  that  that 
man  was  Captain  Hetherington!"  Having  said  this,  with 
much  spirit,  she  resumed  her  sobbing  just  where  she  had  left 
off. 

"And  now  will  you  believe  my  word,  perhaps?"  asked 
Philip,  with  an  air  of  patient  martyrdom  that  he  must  have 
inherited  from  his  father. 

Without  reply  Rafe  turned  to  the  tall  girl  who  stood  lean- 
ing by  the  newel  post.  He  spoke  low,  but  the  room  was  still, 
and  his  voice  travelled :  "  Mistress  Mallory,  will  you  look  well 
upon  that  man,  and  bethink  you  ere  you  say  you  know  him  ? 
It  means  much,  in  the  long  run,  to  all  of  us." 

Up  to  that  moment  the  girl  had  stood  with  eyes  bent  down, 
as  if  scorning  to  bear  a  part  in  the  scene  that  was  being  played 
before  her.  Now,  at  Rafe's  words,  she  raised  her  head  slowly, 
almost  fearfully,  and  fixed  her  eyes  full  on  Jock. 

Wogan  took  a  candle  from  the  table,  and  holding  it  level 


BY  CREDIBLE  TESTIMONY  49 

with  Jock's  head,  threw  the  light  full  upon  him.  Through 
the  dazzle  of  brightness  Jock  saw  the  girl's  face,  beautiful, 
vivid,  with  dusky  hair,  and  white  skin,  and  dark  eyes  that 
held  his.  An  angel  from  heaven  might  wear  such  a  sem- 
blance. For  a  moment  he  saw  the  face  devoid  of  all  emotion, 
save  that  of  intense  seeking;  then  he  saw  the  eyes  slowly 
withdraw  from  his  unspoken  appeal,  saw  the  lips  break  into 
a  faint  smile,  as  Mistress  Mallory  turned  toward  Rafe. 

"Surely,  sir,"  she  spoke  in  a  notably  sweet  voice,  "this  is 
Captain  Hetherington." 

For  one  instant  there  was  silence  in  the  hall,  a  silence  in 
which  Jock,  still  looking  blankly  at  the  girl's  serene  face, 
felt  the  impatience  and  the  anger  at  his  needless  trick,  as 
they  must  hold  it,  surge  and  mount  in  the  men  around  him. 
Then  out  of  the  dark  of  the  gallery  a  young  voice,  clear  as  a 
bell,  was  raised :  "  Out  on  you,  Blanche  Mallory !  That  lad 
is  no  more  black  Johnny  Hetherington  than  I  am  he!" 

Jock  threw  back  his  head  and  looked  for  his  Heaven-sent 
deliverer.  She  stood  leaning  with  her  hands  upon  the  balus- 
trade of  the  gallery,  a  young  girl  and  slender,  with  a  mop  of 
brown  hair  falling  about  her  shoulders,  and  direct  eyes. 

"Go  to  your  chamber,  you  shameless  hussy!"  cried  Dif- 
ficult, and  Henrietta,  for  once  agreeing  with  her  adversary, 
whimpered,  "Would  you  contradict  your  aunt,  you  serpent 
child?"  but  Rafe  interposed.  "Come  down,  Althea,"  he 
begged. 

"  I'm  not  garbed  for  an  assembly,  cousin,"  the  girl  replied 
with  a  flashing  smile.  She  had  a  well-shaped  mouth,  though 
large. 

"Come  down,  you  peevish  jade!"  ordered  Martin,  with  a 
thump  of  his  staff,  and  thus  entreated,  Althea  came  halfway 
down  the  stairs. 

To  the  dullest  eye  it  was  patent  that  she  had  just  risen 
from  her  bed.  She  wore  a  russet  cloak  that  draped  her  in 
5 


60  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

long  folds  from  head  to  heel,  and  by  one  string,  with  a  shame- 
less lack  of  embarrassment,  she  dangled  a  nightcap.  Hen- 
rietta covered  her  eyes  with  a  scandalized  cry,  and  Difficult 
repeated,  "Hussy!" 

"You  know  Captain  Hetherington ? "  Rafe  began  his  cate- 
chism with  rekindled  hope. 

"  If  I  do  not,  who  should  ?  Was  it  not  I  pulled  your  boy 
Philip  out  of  the  horse-trough  that  morning,  Cousin  Rafe? 
And  did  I  not  give  my  brave  captain  a  piece  of  my  niind  and 
a  bit  of  my  tongue,  to  boot?" 

"And  this  man — " 

Althea  shook  her  head.  "By  no  means,"  she  said,  and 
looked  Jock  over  with  a  serenity  that  Jock,  who  once  more 
felt  his  neck  grow  hot,  was  far  from  sharing.  "This  man 
is  younger  than  the  Captain,  and  of  lower  stature,  full  two 
inches  lower,  and  moreover,  as  you  see,  he  has  the  grace  to 
blush,  which  Captain  Hetherington  forgot  years  since." 

This  last  happy  stroke  had  the  effect  of  turning  all  eyes 
on  the  furiously  crimson  Jock,  who  felt  an  unhallowed  desire 
to  shake  his  benefactress. 

A  benefactress  Althea  might  indeed  have  proved,  for  her 
positive  tone  was  beginning  to  tell  upon  her  kinsmen,  had  not 
Mistress  Mallory  thrown  her  weight  into  the  opposite  side 
of  the  scales.  "What  a  child  thou  art,  Althea!"  she  said, 
half  laughing,  and  she  had  a  pretty  laugh.  "Indeed,  'tis 
kind  of  thee  to  pity  Hetherington  and  seek  to  help  him,  even 
with  a  fib." 

The  younger  girl  faced  her.  "  It  is  not  I  would  pity  Heth- 
erington," she  said,  but  as  she  spoke,  as  if,  against  her  will, 
she  took  home  the  full  force  of  the  other's  words,  she  colored 
slowly. 

Straightway  the  women's  tongues  assailed  her.  "You  were 
ever  a  froward  peat!"    cried  Difficult. 

"'Tis  but  her  tender  heart,"  apologized  Blanche  Mallory, 


BY  CREDIBLE  TESTIMONY  61 

and  when  Rafe,  who  seemed  a  genuinely  brave  man,  tried  to 
speak  a  word  for  the  girl,  Henrietta  put  the  finishing  touch. 

"'Tis  well,"  she  sobbed.  "Defend  that  little  good-for- 
naught,  Rafe,  when  she  has  just  called  your  own  mother  a 
1-liar!" 

After  that  Rafe  held  his  peace,  with  a  face  blacker  than 
nature  had  made  it,  and  Althea,  swinging  her  nightcap, 
turned  away.  From  the  head  of  the  stairs  she  called  back, 
"But  he  isn't  Captain  Hetherington!"  and  so  disappeared 
down  the  gallery. 

Blanche  Mallory  followed  her  up  the  stairs,  Henrietta, 
indignantly  rejecting  Rafe's  aid,  followed  Blanche,  and  after 
them  went  Difficult,  who  uttered  a  last  caustic  comment. 
"Perchance  now.  Brother  Martin,  you  will  no  longer  believe 
my  poor  boy  to  be  a  liar." 

"I  never  said  he  was!"   cried  the  exasperated  gentleman. 

"Who  said  you  did?"  quoth  his  amiable  sister-in-law,  and 
so,  in  the  proud  consciousness  of  having  had  the  last  word, 
stalked  away  into  the  darkness. 

Jock  sat  down  again  on  his  stool  and  looked  at  the  stone 
floor  between  his  knees.  For  one  moment  he  had  half  formed 
a  plan  of  asking  for  more  witnesses.  Surely  in  that  great 
house  there  must  be  serving  folk  who  would  have  seen  and 
remembered  the  face  of  Captain  Hetherington.  But  speedily 
he  dismissed  the  plan.  Even  if  he  had  been  allowed  further 
witnesses,  a  boon  which  he  scarce  expected,  he  judged  shrewdly 
that  the  serving  creatures  were  bound,  after  the  manner  of 
their  kind,  to  reecho  the  testimony  of  their  betters.  No, 
there  was  nothing  for  him  to  say,  nothing  to  do.  In  the  utter 
weariness  of  reaction  he  sat  silent,  and  wondered  dully  why 
they  should  all  conspire  to  lie  away  his  last  chance  of  safety. 

Round  him  he  heard  the  men  speaking.  "  Three  witnesses 
against  one  silly  girl !  What  would  be  your  decision  in  a  court 
of  law,  Mr.  Inchcome?"  he  heard  Philip  say  exultingly,  and 


62  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

then  he  heard  a  sharp  exclamation  from  Martin  Heyroun, 
"Whither  are  you  bound,  Rafe?" 

Jock  looked  up  quickly.  Rafe  Heyroun  had  just  come  from 
an  inner  room,  with  his  hat  on  his  head  and  his  cloak  cast  over 
one  arm.  "Homeward,  sii","  Rafe  said  curtly,  and  it  could 
not  be  otherwise,  Jock  knew.  The  silly  women's  quarrel 
about  the  spectacles  had  been  his  ruin.  If  Rafe,  for  whatever 
motive,  should  champion  him  now,  Rafe  would  have  to  give 
the  lie  to  his  own  mother. 

Idly  Jock  listened  to  the  protests  of  the  men.  Wogan  said 
that  the  night  was  dark,  and  Lieutenant  Phil  that  the  way 
home  to  Draycote  was  long,  and  Martin  Heyroun  said  that 
Rafe  was  a  fool. 

"My  father's  son,  sir,"  said  Rafe,  civilly,  from  the  door- 
way. "Give  ye  good  night,  sirs,  and  order  your  business  as 
likes  you  best.     I  wash  my  hands  of  it." 

Rafe  had  flung  the  door  open,  when  Jock  started  to  his  feet. 
"  Give  you  good  night,  sir,"  said  he,  and  in  tone  he  wavered, 
in  his  own  despite,  between  a  taunt  and  an  appeal.  "I  am 
your  servant  for  what  you  sought  to  do,  and  what  you  dare 
not  do." 

Rafe  wheeled  on  the  threshold.  His  eyes  met  Jock's,  and 
in  their  expression  was  that  which,  for  a  moment,  kindled 
hope  in  Jock,  but  straightway  that  hope  was  quenched,  for 
between  the  two  men  stood  the  little  mother  in  the  flowered 
tabby.  "Give  you  good  night,"  Rafe  said  deliberately, 
"  Captain  Hetherington." 


CHAPTER  VI 


VISITED   IN   PRISON 


In  the  corner  where  it  was  dusky  the  great  clock  chimed 
midnight,  and  as  the  twelfth  stroke  died,  Esdras  Inchcome 
broke  the  momentary  silence  of  discouragement  that  had 
fallen  on  the  occupants  of  the  hall.  "And  that  is  your  last 
word.  Captain?"  he  asked. 

"  I've  said  so  once  or  twice  ere  this,"  Jock  answered.  He 
sat  in  his  old  place,  with  his  folded  arms  resting  on  the  table 
and  his  eyes  cast  down.  In  body  and  in  mind  he  was  weary 
almost  to  the  point  of  stupefaction,  for  he  had  not  found  the 
last  hour  an  easy  one. 

With  elaborate  detail  the  Heyrouns  and  their  allies,  each 
after  his  kind,  had  explained  and  reexplained  to  Jock  the 
disadvantages  of  his  position.  He  had  been  reminded,  to 
the  point  of  surfeit,  that  he  was  their  prisoner,  that  he  had 
no  friends  to  interfere  in  his  behalf,  that  Graystones  was  a 
remote  and  lonely  house,  where  a  variety  of  mischances,  duly 
specified,  might  befall  him.  He  had  been  tantalized  with  the 
frequent  reiteration  that  he  could  have  his  freedom  at  the 
price  of  the  delivery  of  the  little  deal  box,  and  at  that  price 
alone.  When  he  had  insisted  that  he  was  not  Captain  Heth- 
erington  and  that  he  had  never  seen  the  box,  he  had  been  met 
with  ironic  compliments  on  his  persistence  in  a  clever  lie,  or 
with  curses  for  his  stubbornness.  Thus  with  alternation  of 
threats  and  persuasions  the  hour  had  passed,  and  midnight 

53 


54  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

found  both  parties,  weary  and  exasperated,  at  precisely  the 
same  point  where  they  had  stood  in  the  beginning. 

In  due  sequence  Jock's  answer  should  have  been  the  cue 
for  Martin  Heyroun  to  make  another  allusion  to  the  effi- 
cacy of  a  rope's  end  in  cases  of  sheer  obstinacy,  but  even  that 
hale  old  Trojan  was  discouraged.  He  sat  gloomily  silent,  and 
the  young  parson  groaned,  and  Captain  Wogan,  who  had 
strolled  to  the  fireplace,  kicked  moodily  at  the  logs  that 
smouldered  on  the  hearth.  Not  an  objection  was  made,  for 
once,  when  Inchcome  took  the  ordering  of  affairs  into  his  own 
hands. 

"You  shall  have  the  night  for  reflection,  even  as  you  de- 
sired but  a  little  while  ago,"  he  addressed  Jock.  "Take  him 
to  your  custody,  Lambert,  and  I  commend  to  you  the  west 
roof  room  as  a  strong  prison." 

Jock  rose  to  his  feet,  and  without  reply  followed  Wogan  to 
the  stairway.  He  heard  Inchcome  say,  "Wait!"  and  facing 
about,  saw  that  the  old  gentleman  had  turned  in  his  chair  and 
was  watching  him,  with  the  little  malign  smile  that  he  had 
come  to  disrelish. 

"  An  empty  stomach  often  makes  a  clear  head,"  said  Inch- 
come. "See  to  it,  Lambert,  that  Captain  Hetherington  has 
neither  meat  nor  drink,  until  such  time  as  he  remembers  his 
own  name  and  the  whereabouts  of  the  little  deal  box." 

Out  of  the  sea  of  bewilderment  in  which  he  was  drifting, 
Jock  came  suddenly  to  land.  Their  threats  of  torture  he  had 
listened  to  with  fear,  as  a  man  fears  a  half-seen  bogy  in  a  bad 
dream,  but  now  that  he  faced  the  actuahty  of  one  definite 
form  of  torture,  he  saw  the  back  of  his  fear.  At  that  moment 
when  he  felt  the  fear  die  in  him,  he  felt  a  dour,  quiet  anger 
kindle  in  its  stead.  Very  deliberately,  and  with  level,  inso- 
lent eyes  on  Esdras  Inchcome,  he  tightened  by  one  hole  the 
belt  that  was  about  his  waist. 

"There  are  three  holes    more,"  he  said,  "and  if  I  had 


VISITED  IN  PRISON  55 

your  deal  box,  sink  me  to  hell  if  ever  you  should  have  it 
now !" 

With  that  Jock  turned  and  followed  at  Wogan's  heels  up 
the  stairs,  and  Lieutenant  Phil,  carrying  a  candlestick  that 
he  had  caught  up  from  the  table,  closed  the  file.  They 
crossed  the  gallery,  with  the  grumble  of  voices  in  the  lighted 
hall  below  fading  from  their  ears  as  they  went,  and  they 
passed  down  a  passage  where  the  candlelight  cast  their  long 
shadows  on  the  dark  wainscot.  They  came  to  a  second  stair- 
way, and  through  a  casement  at  the  stair-foot,  open  to  the 
night,  Jock  had  a  glimpse  of  stars,  enmeshed  in  branches  of 
trees,  and  smelt  the  scent  of  carnations  that  slept  in  the  gar- 
den below.  The  stairs  were  steep  and  narrow,  and  above 
them  was  a  dim  lobby  which  they  crossed,  and  then  Wogan 
opened  a  heavy  door  into  what  for  the  moment  seemed 
darkness. 

Jock  crossed  the  threshold  promptly.  "I  thank  you  for 
your  attendance,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  as  the  door  closed 
behind  him. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  in  the  dark,  and  listening,  heard  a 
key  turn  in  the  lock,  and  then  footsteps  dying  away  on  the 
stair.  He  leaned  against  the  wall  and  drew  a  long  breath  of 
relief.  He  was  a  prisoner,  obviously,  but  at  least  he  was 
alone,  and  he  need  no  longer  rack  himself  into  alertness 
while  he  was  staggering  with  fatigue. 

As  he  grew  wonted  to  the  obscurity  of  the  room,  Jock 
raised  his  head  and  peered  about  him.  At  his  left  hand,  high 
in  the  wall,  was  a  little  open  window,  too  small  for  the 
passage  of  a  man's  body,  but  giving  air  and  faint  starlight, 
only  less  dark  than  the  darkness  of  the  room.  With  the  help 
of  such  poor  light,  he  presently  made  out  the  dim  lines  of  the 
beams  that  stayed  the  roof  above  his  head  and  of  the 
angles  and  knees,  the  jumbled  ends  of  the  vast  framework  of 
the  house,  that  stood  out  from  the  walls,  and  then,  after  a 


56  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

time,  he  spied  against  the  farther  wall  something  long  and  low 
that  did  not  have  the  appearance  of  a  mere  timber.  He 
stumbled  thither,  and  groping  with  his  hands,  discovered  that 
he  was  the  undisturbed  possessor  of  a  tolerable  truckle-bed 
and  a  blanket. 

To  a  man  who  had  slept,  or  rather,  lain  awake  all  the  last 
night  on  the  flagstones  of  St.  Andrew's,  there  was  but  one 
natural  course.  Jock  stepped  out  of  his  boots,  and  havmg 
slipped  off  his  doublet,  folded  it  into  a  pillow.  Then,  with  a 
sense  of  sybaritic  self-indulgence,  he  laid  himself  down  on 
the  bed  and  drew  the  blanket  over  him.  Undoubtedly  he 
was  in  as  bad  a  predicament  as  could  well  be  imagined;  un- 
doubtedly he  would  suffer  starvation;  but  let  the  future 
bring  what  it  might,  for  the  moment  he  was  comfortable, 
and  he  was  very  tired.  He  reflected  that  Inchcome  would  be 
disappointed,  could  he  know  how  he  was  spending  his  night 
of  grace,  and  chuckling  at  the  joke  of  it,  he  fell  asleep. 

Weary  as  he  was,  he  went  far  and  deep  into  slumber,  and 
when  he  grew  aware  of  a  sound  of  footsteps  near  him  he  tried 
to  slumber  still.  He  found  the  effort  futile.  Strive  as  he 
would  to  clog  his  waking  senses,  he  heard  nearer  and  nearer 
the  rustling  of  garments,  and  through  his  heavy  eyelids  he 
saw  more  and  more  clearly  the  red  radiance  of  light.  He 
felt  that  some  one  was  shaking  him  with  a  weak,  but  by  no 
means  gentle  hand,  and  he  heard  a  voice,  a  notably  sweet 
voice,  though  sharply  edged  with  irritation,  bidding  him  to 
wake. 

The  contrast  between  the  voice  and  the  hand  stirred 
his  curiosity,  and  with  a  mighty  effort,  like  the  effort  with 
which  a  diver  rises  to  light  and  air,  he  heaved  himself  broad 
awake.  He  found  that  he  lay  upon  his  back  on  the  truckle- 
bed,  and  close  above  him,  with  a  rushlight  in  one  hand  and 
the  neck  of  his  shirt  gripped  in  the  other,  bent  Blanche  Mal- 
lory.    "Protect  my  innocence!"  Jock  said  aloud. 


VISITED  IN  PEISON  67 

The  girl  stood  erect,  and  her  face,  half  seen  in  the  aura  of 
pale  candlelight,  flushed  faintly  and  then  grew  white.  She 
had  crossed  a  dead-line  when  she  entered  the  room,  and  the 
lad's  prompt  realization  of  the  fact  brought  realization  home 
to  her. 

For  a  moment  they  eyed  each  other,  she  standing  upright 
with  the  little  candle  held  in  a  steady  hand,  he  sitting  up  in 
his  bed,  with  a  difference  in  pose,  but  a  similarity  in  hostile 
intent  to  that  with  which  Jock  and  Faintnot  Pedock,  earlier 
in  the  day,  had  fronted  each  other.  As  he  remained  obsti- 
nately silent,  she  had  perforce  to  speak. 

"  I  came  to  help  you,  sir." 

"  You've  had  a  change  of  heart,"  said  Jock.  In  spite  of  his 
yearning  desire  to  sleep  he  was  for  the  moment  broad  awake, 
and  he  remembered  the  smile  with  which  this  girl  had  borne 
witness  against  him. 

"Can  you  not  understand?"  She  leaned  a  little  toward 
him  as  she  spoke. 

She  was  good  to  look  at,  he  was  willing  to  admit,  and  he 
had  not  lived  five  years  in  camps  to  be  unaware  of  the  con- 
scious purpose  with  which  she  had  disposed  her  kerchief  about 
her  white  neck.  She  was  a  little  older  than  he  by  the  tale  of 
years,  he  reckoned,  now  that  he  viewed  her  closely,  but  he 
himself  in  some  essentials  was  older  than  his  years,  and  he 
had  to  stead  him  the  coldness  of  his  northern  blood.  He 
looked  upon  her,  fair,  soft,  seductive,  in  the  faint  candlelight 
that  touched  her  full  throat  and  tender  mouth,  and  he  saw  a 
desirable  woman,  as  he  was  meant  to  see,  and  he  saw  also, 
behind  the  woman-mask,  a  clever  adversary  who  was  seek- 
ing —  what  ?  With  narrowed  eyes  he  watched  her,  and 
waited. 

"I  have  but  a  moment,"  she  said,  speaking  quickly  and 
softly.  "  I  came  to  you.  I  knew  no  other  course.  I  pray 
you,  be  generous  when  you  think  upon  this  rashness  of  mine. 


58  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

There  is  no  one  in  the  house  whom  I  may  trust.  Oh,  you 
that  are  men,  you  have  no  mercy,  no  pity,  when  you  sit  in 
judgment  on  a  woman  1  Will  you  not  believe  me  when  I  say 
my  one  desire  is  to  help  you  ?  My  father  was  a  loyal  gentle- 
man, and  I  would  aid  any  man  that  served  the  cause  for 
which  my  father  died.  'Twas  for  the  sake  of  the  cause  that 
I  had  speech  aforetime  with  Captain  Hetherington."  Invol- 
untarily she  pressed  her  free  hand  to  her  throat,  but  she 
forced  her  tone  to  a  semblance  of  careless  interest,  as  she  con- 
cluded, "  Perchance,  have  you  news  of  how  it  has  gone  with 
the  Captain?" 

"  I  am  Captain  Hetherington,"  Jock  answered. 

To  him,  it  was  droll  to  see  how  the  pleading  softness  fell 
from  the  girl's  manner,  and  how  the  irritation  that  had  edged 
her  bearing  when  she  urged  him  wake  came  again  to  the  fore. 
"Then  you  lied  when  the  Heyrouns  questioned  you?"  she 
asked  dryly. 

With  equal  dryness  he  answered :  "  If  I  did  not  lie  when  I 
denied  to  be  the  Captain,  some  one  else  must  have  swerved 
from  the  truth  when  they  gave  me  his  title.  Make  me  not 
ungallant,  mistress." 

The  girl  bit  her  lip  with  a  momentary  impatience  that  he 
did  not  fail  to  record.  "Below  in  the  hall,"  she  explained, 
"I  spoke  to  gain  time.     Now  I  will  help  you — " 

"You  are  not  a  fool,"  said  Jock.  "Your  word,  added  to 
that  little  Althea's  word,  would  have  proved  to  them  all  that 
I  was  not  Captain  Hetherington,  and  you  know  it  well.  Why 
did  you  wish  me  to  stand  in  Hetherington's  place?"  As  he 
said  the  words  he  looked  at  her,  in  the  warm  splendor  of 
her  beauty,  and  remembering  his  stalwart,  hard-lived  cousin, 
the  Captain,  he  knew  the  answer  to  the  question,  and  won- 
dered that  he  had  been  so  dull  as  to  need  to  ask  it. 

Mistress  Mallory  parried  adroitly.  "I  cannot  tell  you  now 
all  the  ins  and  outs  of  this  unhappy  intrigue  —  there  is  no 


VISITED  m  PRISON  69 

time  to  tell  them.  In  the  hall  —  unwisely,  it  may  well  be  — 
I  told  a  falsehood,  for  it  seemed  to  me  the  surest  way  to  help 
you.  And  now  —  oh,  yes,  I  seek  a  price  for  my  aid,  as  your 
eyes  seem  to  say.  Indeed,  you  are  too  keen  for  me,  sir.  Let 
me  speak  to  you  as  one  man  to  another — " 

In  spite  of  himself  Jock  grinned.  The  compliment  anent 
his  keenness  had  softened  him,  and  the  suggestion  that  Mis- 
tress Mallory,  with  her  loose  kerchief  and  her  eyes  and  her 
gestures,  should  be  looked  upon  as  a  man,  hit  his  sense  of 
humor. 

The  girl  caught  at  his  mood  and  laughed  softly  with  him. 
"To  be  sure,"  she  said,  "I  want  something  for  something. 
Tell  me  where  Captain  Hetherington  is  now,  whether  he  be 
living  or  dead  —  we  must  recover  that  will,  you  understand. 
'Tis  for  that  I  seek  tidings  of  him.  Tell  me  where  the  Captain 
is,  and  I  will  set  you  free." 

But  Jock,  with  his  northern  cool-headedness,  was  his  own 
master,  now  that  practical  considerations  were  in  question. 
"How  will  you  free  me?"  he  asked,  with  the  directness  of  a 
ten-year-old. 

"  What  a  boy  you  are !"  She  had  drawn  near  him,  and  as  if 
he  were  indeed  a  boy,  she  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  his  shoulder. 
"Can  you  not  trust  me?" 

He  looked  up  at  her,  as  she  bent  over  him,  and  his  eyes  were 
not  a  boy's  eyes.  There  was  in  them  enough  of  cynical  com- 
prehension and  cynical  amusement  to  make  her  draw  back. 
"When  I'm  a  free  man,"  he  said,  "I'll  tell  you  more  of  my 
cousin,  the  Captain,  than  'twill  rejoice  you  to  hear,  but  I'll 
not  tell  it  till  I  am  a  free  man." 

Jock  spoke,  not  from  mere  impulse,  but  from  the  resolve 
that  he  had  made  hours  before  in  the  hall.  Half  in  obstinacy 
he  had  determined  not  to  yield  a  shred  of  information  to  the 
folk  who  had  browbeaten  him,  half  in  settled  policy  he  had 
reasoned  that,  perhaps,  when  his  captors  grew  cooler  and  real- 


60  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRATSTONES 

ized,  as  in  the  end  they  must,  that  he  was  not  Captain  Hether- 
ington,  he  might  buy  himself  immunity  with  the  offer  of  sure 
tidings  of  the  man  they  sought.  At  present  when  he  could 
win  credence  for  no  word  of  his,  when  he  could  not  hope  for 
them  to  verify  his  story  by  travelling  to  Colchester,  he  should 
only  waste  his  information,  whether  he  gave  it  to  this  girl  or 
to  another,  and,  even  as  she  had  phrased  it,  he  did  not  purpose, 
northern  born  as  he  was,  to  give  something  for  less  than  some- 
thing. 

A  woman,  and  a  shrewd  one,  Blanche  recognized  the  finality 
of  Jock's  stubbornness  more  readily  than  the  men  had  rec- 
ognized it.  "So  be  it!"  she  said,  and  turned  to  the  door. 
"If  you  refuse  my  aid,  you  may  thank  yourself  that  you 
remain  a  prisoner  —  and  hungry."  She  eyed  him  narrowly. 
"Esdras  Inchcome  is  a  man  of  his  word,"  she  mused  aloud. 
"By  to-morrow  night  you  will  be  cruel  hungry." 

"I  could  guess  that  without  your  coming  to  my  chamber 
to  tell  me,"  said  Jock. 

"As  it  chances,"  she  went  on,  "I  have  here  in  my  pocket 
bread  and  meat  that  I  fetched  hither  without  Captain  Wogan's 
knowledge.  The  food  is  yours  —  an  you  will  tell  me  of  Cap- 
tain Hetherington." 

Jock  laughed  noiselessly,  with  his  lips  baring  his  teeth. 
"Keep  your  bread,  mistress,"  he  said.  "Give  it  to  your  lap- 
dog,  and  perchance  he  will  rear  up  on  his  hinder  legs  and  beg 
for  it  prettily.  I  am  not  a  dog."  But  he  was  a  hungry  man, 
and  moved  by  the  cruelty  of  her  reminder  of  his  hunger,  he 
added,  "  Did  you  buy  Captain  Hetherington  with  a  morsel  of 
bread,  or  with  something  sweeter,  perchance?" 

In  that  moment  Jock  saw  the  real  woman,  the  woman  who 
would  have  moved  him  as  a  pawn  in  her  game  and  who  had 
been  checked  in  her  move.  Blanche  Mallory  stood  at  her  full 
height,  in  a  dazzling  semblance  of  outraged  modesty.  "You 
vile  horse-boy!"  she  said  softly.     "I  be  half  minded  to  call 


VISITED  IN  PRISON  61 

Lambert  Wogan  to  deal  with  you.  He  waits  without  in  the 
lobby.     I  have  but  to  raise  my  voice  — " 

"Waits,  does  he?"  said  Jock,  and  his  eyes  widened  with 
comprehension.  Reminded  by  her  words,  he  suddenly  put 
two  and  two  together.  Whether  or  not  the  girl  lied  when  she 
said  that  Wogan  was  without,  it  was  true  that  Wogan  had 
the  key  to  his  prison,  the  key  by  which  she  had  gained 
entrance  thither,  and  that  key  Wogan  was  not  likely  to 
yield  into  the  hands  of  every  woman  that  asked  for  it.  Jock 
grinned  evilly.  "Call  him  in,  my  mistress,"  said  he.  "Call 
in  Wogan,  who  loves  you,  and  I'll  tell  him  a  tale  of  Captain 
Hetherington  whom  you  loved." 

He  met  her  eyes  fairly,  held  them  for  a  moment,  and  saw 
that  his  shot  had  gone  home.  Deliberately  he  lay  down  again 
with  his  face  to  the  wall.  "Give  you  good  night !"  he  said, 
and  settled  himself  to  sleep. 

A  moment  later  he  felt  that  she  stood  beside  him,  and  he 
heard  her  speak  in  an  altered,  breathless  voice.  "  Yes,  I  love 
Hetherington,  even  as  you  taunt  me  with  doing.  I  have  lied 
to  you,  but  this  is  true  that  I  love  him.  Oh,  in  mere  mercy 
tell  me,  tell  me  where  he  is !" 

But  Mistress  Mallory  had  played  too  many  parts  with  Jock 
to  win  his  pity  now.  Through  all  her  transformations  he  had 
held  to  the  fact  that  he  had  one  piece  of  information  that  was 
of  value  to  her,  and  if  he  would  not  part  with  it  in  the  way 
of  trade,  he  would  not  part  with  it  now  for  love  to  the  woman 
that  had  sought  to  snare  him  into  betraying  it.  That  she  had 
thought  him  a  knave  he  might  forgive,  that  she  had  thought 
him  a  fool,  never  ! 

With  a  dire  weight  of  silent  obstinacy  he  lay  motionless,  till 
he  heard  her  pleadings  falter,  and  knew  that  they  had  ceased. 
A  moment  later  he  heard  her  step  receding  to  the  door,  but 
on  the  threshold,  it  seemed,  she  paused.  "  And  yet,"  she  said, 
in  her  former  self-contained  voice,  that  hinted  at  how  little 


62  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

of  truth  had  been  in  her  latest  pleading,  "  in  the  end  you  will 
be  sorry,  I  think,  that  you  did  not  do  as  I  besought  you." 

Then  Mistress  Mallory  went  out  and  locked  the  door  behind 
her,  and  Jock,  broader  awake  than  he  had  ever  been  before 
in  his  Ufe,  lay  staring  into  the  dark  and  pondering  on  many 
things. 


CHAPTER  VII 

FROM  AN  ATTIC  WINDOW 

When  Jock  next  awoke  he  found  that  his  prison  was  full 
of  modified  daylight,  and  through  the  little  window,  high  in 
the  wall,  he  had  a  gUmpse  of  clouded  sky.  Obviously  it  was 
morning,  breakfast  time,  but  as  obviously  he  had  no  hope 
of  breakfast,  and  therefore  he  saw  no  need  of  rising.  In- 
stead he  snuggled  down  beneath  his  blanket,  and  with  wits 
cleared  by  sleep  and  sharpened  by  hunger,  reviewed  his  posi- 
tion. As  he  pieced  together  what  he  knew,  what  he  suspected, 
and  what  he  desired,  the  story  of  the  Heyrouns  and  of  Captain 
Hetherington  ran  much  as  follows :  — 

There  was  a  man  named  Philip  Heyroun  —  manifestly  not 
the  Philip  Heyroun  who  died  An.  Dom.  1605.  On  that  point 
Jock  was  now  almost  convinced  though,  being  of  the  north, 
he  disliked  to  admit  it.  This  Philip  Heyroun  had  a  brother 
Martin,  father  of  Rafe  and  of  Lieutenant  Phil,  and  an  un- 
named brother,  husband  to  Mistress  Difficult,  —  in  the  midst 
of  his  own  troubles  Jock  spared  him  a  sigh  of  commiseration, 
—  and  father  of  the  chestnut-haired  Philip  and  of  the  young 
parson.  Philip  Heyroun  was  apparently  a  man  of  substance, 
and  he  had  been  dwelling  in  the  preceding  June  at  Graystones, 
the  house  that  was  now  Jock's  prison,  with  his  sister-in-law. 
Mistress  Henrietta,  his  nephew,  the  chestnut-haired  Philip, 
and  the  two  young  women,  Blanche  Mallory  and  Althea, 
whose  relationship  to  the  story  Jock  could  not  yet  determine. 

63 


64  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Upon  this  household  at  Graystones  had  descended  Captain 
Hetherington,  who  had  landed  near  Clegden  in  Suffolk,  from 
France,  with  some  lawless  followers.  His  intention,  unques- 
tionably, had  been  to  join  himself  to  the  king's  party,  but 
meantime  he  had  established  himself  by  force  of  arms  at  Gray- 
stones,  where  he  had  won  the  opposite  of  golden  opinions. 

"  Standing  in  my  cousin's  room,"  soliloquized  Jock,  "  I  am 
accused  of  theft,  of  murder,  and  of  an  attempt  at  drowning 
a  young  child.  'Tis  only  arson  and  bigamy,  so  far,  that  have 
not  been  laid  to  my  credit.  Truth,  he  was  a  pretty,  stirring 
fellow,  was  my  cousin!" 

In  the  ample  leisure  that  now  was  his,  Jock  tried  to  guess 
just  what  had  happened  beneath  the  surface  during  that 
momentous  period  at  Graystones.  The  results  had  been  that 
Captain  Hetherington,  for  devilry  or  for  weightier  reason,  had 
possessed  himself  of  Philip  Heyroun's  will,  and  thereby  had 
brought  about  the  death  of  the  testator.  Those  were  the 
results,  but  the  causes  were  further  to  seek. 

This,  at  least,  was  clear:  Mistress  Mallory  had  so  borne  her- 
self toward  the  Captain  that  she  had  wished  to  see  another 
man,  incapable  of  bearing  tales,  stand  in  his  place  to  answer 
Wogan's  questions,  and  Philip,  the  chestnut-haired,  for  his 
own  good  reasons,  had  been  equally  desirous  of  keeping  him 
out  of  the  way.  By  this  time  Jock  was  morally  certain  that 
it  was  Philip,  the  only  man  at  Graystones  who  had  had  ac- 
quaintance with  his  kinsman,  who  had  whispered  to  him  in 
the  dark  of  the  porch,  and  that  Philip  wished  to  befriend  the 
Captain  meant,  to  Jock's  mind,  one  of  two  things :  either  he 
loved  the  Captain,  which  was  improbable,  or  he  feared  him 
exceedingly. 

When  he  had  reached  this  conclusion,  Jock  rolled  over  fret- 
fully where  he  lay.  "Now  a  wildfire  on  me,"  he  grumbled, 
"but  I  would  that  I  knew  what  'tis  my  cousin  knew  about 
Master  Philip!" 


FROM  AN  ATTIC  WINDOW  66 

The  sense  of  the  imperfectness  of  his  knowledge  was  a  con- 
stant irritation  to  Jock,  He  felt  certain  that,  had  his  cousin, 
with  his  complete  grasp  of  the  circumstances,  stood  in  the 
same  jeopardy,  he  would  have  found  a  way  out.  Somehow, 
by  the  common  knowledge  that  was  among  them,  he  would 
have  forced  Blanche  and  Philip  to  do  his  will,  while  Jock, 
holding  no  more  than  a  few  broken  threads,  paused  baffled 
whenever  he  sought  to  weave  a  net  that  might  enmesh  them. 

By  now  a  little  uncertain  sunlight  was  straggling  through 
the  window,  and  thither  Jock  turned  his  attention.  Up  to 
that  moment  he  had  not  dreamed  of  investigating  the  window, 
for  he  bore  in  mind  the  lesson  that  he  had  learned  by  ocular 
demonstration  at  St.  Andrew's,  namely,  that  for  a  prisoner 
to  show  his  head  at  a  window  was  to  court  a  bullet  through 
the  brain.  At  Graystones,  however,  the  case  might  be  altered, 
and  at  any  rate  he  was  tired  of  alternately  wondering  about 
Blanche  and  Philip,  and  thinking  how  hungry  he  was.  So  he 
rose  up,  and  shoving  the  truckle-bed  beneath  the  window, 
mounted  upon  it  and  cautiously  looked  forth. 

He  was  aware  first  of  a  gable  of  the  house  on  either  side  of 
his  window,  and  a  steep  slope  of  tiled  and  moss-grown  roof 
between,  like  a  chute,  down  which  he  looked.  His  position, 
in  short,  was  analogous  to  that  of  a  horse,  wearing  monstrous 
blinkers.  He  could  see  neither  to  right  nor  to  left,  but  straight 
before  him  he  had  a  long  and  ever  widening  perspective.  He 
could  see  a  strip  of  garden,  with  a  gravelled  walk,  and  apricot 
and  peach  trees  nailed  against  a  wall  upon  the  right  hand. 
The  wall  crossed  the  foot  of  the  garden,  and  beyond  it  he  saw 
open  country,  with  intersecting  hedges,  and  here  and  there 
clumps  of  trees,  and  in  the  far  distance  a  squat  church  tower 
that  rose  against  the  sky.  Over  all  the  sunlight  fell  by  mo- 
ments and  then  was  lightly  clouded,  but  he  could  see  enough 
of  the  position  of  the  sun  to  judge  that  the  time  must  be  hard 
upon  mid-afternoon. 


66  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

The  garden,  as  far  as  Jock  could  see,  was  deserted,  and 
growing  confident  that  no  sentry  was  about,  he  settled  him- 
self as  comfortably  as  might  be  at  the  window,  with  his  arm 
laid  along  the  broad  ledge  and  his  head  resting  upon  it.  Thus 
he  stood,  looking  down  into  the  garden  and  reflecting  that  he 
would  vastly  rather  be  there  than  where  he  was,  when  he  saw 
two  figures  come  into  sight  on  the  path  by  the  farther  wall. 
In  a  moment  he  had  recognized  them.  The  woman  who  came 
first  was  Blanche  Mallory,  and  the  man  who  followed  was 
Captain  Wogan. 

With  keen  interest  Jock  watched  all  that  passed  between 
them.  At  every  step  or  two  the  girl  paused  to  pluck  a  flower, 
guelder  rose,  or  carnation,  or  sweet  pease  that  grew  at  the  left 
of  the  path,  and  she  plucked  the  flowers  with  a  conscious  effort 
to  emphasize  every  grace  of  her  body,  and  much  pretty  play 
of  looking  back  across  her  shoulder  at  the  man.  To  these 
advances  Wogan  seemed  glumly  unresponsive.  He  followed 
her,  grim  as  fate  itself,  he  stood  and  waited  while  she  plucked 
her  flowers,  and  then  he  followed  her  again. 

Little  by  little  the  girl's  assurance  seemed  to  waver.  As 
she  drew  nearer,  Jock  saw  that  her  face  was  pinched  and 
anxious,  and  he  imagined  that  her  hands  shook  as  she  gath- 
ered her  flowers.  Just  below  his  window,  at  the  nearest  point 
in  the  garden  of  which  he  had  clear  view,  was  a  little  plot 
of  green  sward,  where  stood  a  sundial  and  hard  by  it  an  old 
stone  seat.  When  Blanche  Mallory  reached  this  spot,  she  sat 
down  and  motioned  to  Wogan  to  sit  by  her.  He  shook  his 
head  and  stood  before  her,  a  stubborn  and  implacable  figure, 
and  then  the  girl  let  fall  her  flowers,  and  rising,  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  arm.  By  her  face  she  seemed  to  be  pleading  and 
protesting,  but  at  that  distance  no  word  of  hers  could  reach 
Jock.  With  a  feeling  that  to  be  even  a  handbreadth  nearer 
to  the  speakers  would  help  him  to  overhear  what  might  prove 
to  him  of  great  moment,  he  leaned  a  little  forward  at  the 
window. 


FROM  AN  ATTIC  WINDOW  67 

Perhaps  the  fixedness  of  Jock's  attention  had  its  effect 
upon  the  couple  in  the  garden.  In  any  case,  Blanche  suddenly 
turned  her  face  toward  his  window,  and  stopped,  petrified,  it 
would  seem,  in  the  midst  of  her  speech.  Wogan  instantly 
followed  the  direction  of  her  glance,  and  as  Jock  withstood 
the  temptation  to  dodge  out  of  sight,  the  two  in  the  garden 
and  the  one  in  the  window  fronted  each  other  for  a  brief 
instant.  Then  Wogan  turned,  grinding  his  heel  into  the  gravel 
as  he  did  so,  and  strode  directly  toward  the  house.  The  girl, 
clinging  to  his  arm,  striving  to  hold  him  back,  pleading 
always,  followed  a  step  behind  him,  and  thus  they  passed 
out  of  Jock's  sight. 

For  a  little  time  Jock  looked  upon  an  empty  garden,  where 
scattered  flowers  were  withering  by  a  vacant  seat,  and  then, 
on  the  path  just  below  him,  he  saw  Althea  Lovewell  appear. 
He  could  not  mistake  her.  Indeed,  he  was  not  likely  to  forget 
the  mop  of  brown  hair,  and  the  erect  young  figure,  and  the 
free,  boyish  carriage.  In  one  hand  Mistress  Lovewell  carried 
a  stool,  in  the  other  a  hammer,  and  with  an  assurance  that 
spoke  of  premeditation,  she  planted  the  stool  against  the 
sunny  wall,  and  climbing  upon  it,  began  to  nail  up  some 
straggling  shoots  of  the  peach  trees.  She  drove  her  nails  in 
a  capable  manner,  Jock  noted  critically,  and  then  he  began 
to  study  the  girl  herself,  not  her  work.  She  wore  a  tawny- 
colored  gown,  with  an  apron  and  a  plain  kerchief  of  white 
holland,  very  neat  and  without  artifice.  Her  brown  hair 
was  uncovered  and  caught  a  sheen  of  gold  from  the  sunlight 
that  fell  upon  her.  She  seemed  at  one  with  the  fresh  air  and 
the  sunshine  and  the  sweet,  homely  flowers  of  the  old  garden, 
a  creature  full  of  warm  young  life  and  merriment  and  clear 
honesty.  As  he  looked  at  her,  working  among  the  leaves,  all 
unconscious  of  his  scrutiny,  Jock  felt  an  ache  in  his  throat, 
a  longing  in  his  heart,  that  seemed  most  like  to  homesick- 
ness, if  a  man  could  be  homesick,  not  for  any  definite  place, 


68  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

but  for  freedom  and  peace  and  the  long  content  of  sunny 
days. 

It  seemed  to  Jock  that  he  could  have  watched  the  gu-l  for 
hours,  and  watching,  have  forgotten  the  danger  in  which  he 
stood  and  the  hunger  and  the  thirst  that  tormented  him, 
but  that  solace  he  was  soon  to  lose.  Scarcely  had  Althea 
begun  upon  the  second  peach  tree,  with  her  hammer  making 
blithe  music  in  the  quiet  garden,  when  the  young  parson,  all 
in  riding  trim,  sauntered  down  the  gravelled  walk  from  the 
house.  She  looked  over  her  shoulder  and  must  have  seen 
who  was  approaching,  but  with  much  deliberation  she  went 
on  with  her  hammering.  The  young  man  halted  close  by 
her  and  spoke  at  some  length,  to  judge  by  the  movement  of 
his  lips  and  the  play  of  his  eager  face,  but  still  Althea  ham- 
mered. At  last  he  put  up  one  hand,  laying  it  upon  her  waist, 
and  at  that  the  girl  turned  where  she  stood,  very  quietly,  and 
looked  down  at  him.  He  dropped  his  hand  to  his  side,  and 
she  stepped  lightly  from  the  stool,  and  flinging  by  the  hammer, 
started  toward  the  house.  The  man  followed  her,  and  right 
by  the  stone  seat  suddenly  clapped  his  arm  about  her  and 
kissed  her. 

Jock  bit  off  a  curse,  but  next  moment,  with  a  chuckle  of 
laughter,  was  near  to  applauding,  as  if  he  were  in  a  theatre, 
for  the  girl  had  turned,  quick  as  a  cat,  and  struck  the  man 
across  the  face.  It  was  no  ceremonious  and  ladylike  tap 
of  the  hand  either,  but  a  substantial  buffet  that  she  dealt 
him,  and  having  dealt  it,  she  held  her  ground,  with  her  hands 
clenched  at  her  sides  and  her  eyes  fronting  the  man  unwaver- 
ingly. He  made  as  if  to  speak,  but  then,  as  if  he  thought 
better  of  it,  turned  and,  rubbing  his  flushed  face  with  one 
hand,  slouched  away. 

The  girl  kept  her  position,  erect,  with  head  uplifted,  till 
the  man,  so  Jock  decided,  must  have  passed  out  of  her  sight. 
Then  she  strolled  back  to  the  stool  by  the  wall,  where  she 


FROM  AN  ATTIC  WINDOW  69 

reenforced  a  nail  with  an  extra  tap  or  two  of  her  hammer 
and  broke  off  a  withered  leaf.  Throughout  she  made  a  great 
pretence  of  cheery  business,  and  she  even  sang  a  little.  Jock 
caught  the  lilt  of  the  tune,  though  not  the  words.  But  at 
last,  in  the  midst  of  a  strain,  she  fell  silent,  and  presently 
sank  upon  the  stool,  where  she  sat  brooding,  with  her  elbow 
on  her  knee  and  her  chin  in  the  cup  of  her  hand. 

The  sun  had  now  dropped  so  far  toward  the  west  that  the 
shadows  were  long  in  the  garden.  The  girl  sat  in  the  shade  of 
the  wall,  and  once  she  shivered,  as  if  the  air  were  chill.  Of 
a  sudden  Jock  found  himself  thinking,  "  How  little  she  is ! " 
He  remembered  the  bitter  fleers  that  the  women  had  cast 
at  her  the  night  before  and  the  insolent  manner,  almost  that 
of  master  to  servant,  with  which  old  Martin  Heyroun  had 
addressed  her.  Surely,  life  at  Graystones  was  not  easy  for 
this  girl.  Like  himself,  she  could  not  find  the  mercy  of  the 
Heyrouns  tender.  The  lonely  boy  in  his  attic  prison  watched 
the  lonely  girl,  brooding  in  the  garden,  and  seeing  some  dim 
likeness  in  their  outcast  circumstance,  felt  his  heart  grow  big 
with  pity  for  her. 

When  Althea  rose  at  last  and,  in  a  nonchalant  manner 
that  spoke  well  for  her  steadiness,  took  her  stool  and  her 
hammer  and  walked  away,  Jock  felt  lonelier  than  ever.  He 
no  longer  cared  to  look  upon  the  empty  garden,  so  he 
shoved  the  bed  into  its  old  place,  and  sitting  down  upon 
it,  waited  to  see  what  should  next  befall  him.  He  did  not 
find  that  waiting  in  a  bare  and  dismal  room,  with  a  growing 
dizziness  in  the  head  and  a  growing  faintness  at  the  pit  of  the 
stomach,  was  altogether  composing,  so  he  felt  in  his  pockets 
for  distraction.  Thanks  to  their  shabbiness,  he  had  been 
suffered  keep  his  own  breeches,  what  time  the  guards  at  St. 
Andrew's  had  possessed  themselves  of  his  boots  and  doublet, 
but,  to  compensate,  he  had  parted  with  almost  the  entire 
contents  of  his  pockets,  and  to  his  disappointment  he  found 


TO  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

that  he  now  owned  in  the  world  no  more  than  a  short  piece 
of  cord  and  a  small  lump  of  chalk. 

Still,  "something  had  some  savor,"  he  comforted  himself, 
and  a  lump  of  chalk  was  better  than  nothing.  Promptly  he 
knelt  upon  his  bed,  and  set  himself  to  beautifying  the  bare 
walls  of  his  prison  with  loyal  sentiments  and  spicy  personal 
comments  on  the  Roundhead  leaders.  He  was  deep  in  this 
childish  but  interesting  pastime  when  he  heard  the  click  of  a 
key  in  the  door,  and  he  looked  over  his  shoulder  just  in  time 
to  see  Captain  Wogan  stride  into  the  room. 

It  needed  but  a  glance  to  assure  Jock  that  Wogan  was  in 
nearly,  if  not  quite,  as  bad  a  temper  as  he  had  been  in  when 
he  quitted  the  garden.  He  saw  that  Wogan's  lips  were  thin 
and  that  his  eyes  smouldered,  and  with  a  feeling  that  he  were 
best  refrain  from  trivialities,  he  dropped  the  chalk  into  his 
pocket  and  faced  about  to  confront  his  adversary. 

Right  by  the  bed  Wogan  halted  and  stood  glowering  down 
at  Jock.  "  I've  no  share  in  their  cursed  will,"  he  said,  "  but 
when  you  have  to  do  with  Mistress  Mallory,  you  trespass 
where  it  concerns  me.  Do  you  take  my  meaning  ?  You're 
going  to  tell  me  the  truth  of  what  was  between  you  afore- 
time." 

"The  truth?"  Jock  asked  with  effort,  for  now  that  he  came 
to  speak  he  found  that  his  throat  was  dry  with  thirst.  He 
moistened  his  lips  and  tried  again.  "You  want  the  truth?" 
he  asked,  and  then  for  one  minute  he  was  sorely  tempted 
to  tell  the  truth  as  he  believed  it  to  be.  Surely,  he  owed 
something  in  kind  to  the  girl  that  had  deliberately  lied 
away  his  safety  and  then  had  sought  to  beguile  him  to  work 
her  will.  It  were  easy  for  him  to  pay  the  score.  He  need  not 
go  out  of  his  identity  and  acknowledge  that  of  Captain  Heth- 
erington.  He  had  only  to  say  that  he,  Jock  Hetherington, 
had  heard  his  cousin,  the  Captain,  make  his  boast  of  the 
easy  conquest  he  had  won  at  Graystones,  and  the  game  that 


FROM  AN  ATTIC   WINDOW  71 

Mistress  Mallory  was  playing  with  Captain  Wogan  would  be 
checked  surely,  maybe  for  all  time. 

"I'm  going  to  have  the  truth,"  repeated  Wogan,  standing 
over  Jock, 

It  was  curious  that  when  Jock  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
treat  the  girl  as  he  held  that  she  deserved,  he  should  say  in 
reality,  should  hear  himself  saying :  "  I  am  not  Captain  Heth- 
erington.  I  never  so  much  as  heard  of  Mistress  Mallory, 
let  alone  saw  her,  till  yesternight."  But  after  all,  the  woman 
was  a  woman,  and  he  was  glad,  now  that  he  had  said  the 
words,  that  he  had  spoken  the  mere  truth  of  her. 

"  So  'twas  for  her  sake  that  you  lied  about  your  identity," 
said  Wogan,  coolly,  "  in  the  hope  that  you  might  not  be  ques- 
tioned to  her  detriment,  eh?  Upon  my  soul,  you're  a  better 
gentleman  and  a  greater  villain  than  I  thought  you,  but 
'twill  not  profit  you!"  As  he  spoke,  he  caught  at  Jock's 
throat  with  the  same  movement  that  he  had  made  the  night 
before. 

Lessoned  by  experience,  Jock  dodged  and  gained  his  feet, 
but  it  availed  him  little.  Unarmed,  faint  with  starvation, 
he  had  small  hope  against  an  armed  man  who,  even  at  the 
best  of  times,  was  heavier  and  taller  than  he.  After  a  bare 
half  minute  of  struggling,  he  found  himself  on  his  back  on  the 
truckle-bed,  with  Wogan's  knee  pressing  upon  his  chest  and 
Wogan's  hand  at  his  throat.  "I  made  you  speak  once. 
I'll  make  you  speak  again,"  he  heard  Wogan  say.  "Tell 
me  honestly  what  was  between  you  and  Mistress  Mallory, 
or—" 

Jock  felt  Wogan's  hold  tighten  on  his  throat,  and  with  a 
light-headed  sense  of  the  crass  absurdity  of  a  jealous  man's 
reasoning,  he  wanted  to  laugh  and  could  not.  He  saw  Wo- 
gan's face  recede  into  a  mist,  and  then,  at  a  distance,  he  heard 
a  stern  voice  speak:    "Lambert!    Have  done,  you  fool!" 

Jock  knew  that  the  pressure  was  taken  from  his  throat, 


72  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

and  he  lay  fighting  for  the  breath  that  had  well-nigh  been 
choked  out  of  him.  When  he  was  able  at  last  to  lift  his  head 
and  look  about,  he  saw  that  in  the  doorway,  formal  and  cour- 
teous as  ever,  stood  the  old  lawyer,  Esdras  Inchcome.  "  And 
so,  Lambert,"  Inchcome  was  closing  what  seemed  a  long  dis- 
course, "bear  in  mind  that  repetitions  are  wearisome,  and 
ofttimes  unadvisable.  Now  I  pray  you  go,  and  according 
to  our  agreement  leave  Captain  Hetherington  to  me." 

Half  abashed,  Wogan  turned,  muttering,  as  it  seemed,  an 
apology  to  Inchcome,  and  so  went  from  the  room.  As  the 
door  closed  behind  him,  Jock  rose  unsteadily  to  his  feet.  "  I 
pray  you,  be  seated,  sir,"  he  addressed  Inchcome,  and  with 
a  good  imitation  of  the  old  gentleman's  courtesy,  motioned 
him  to  the  bed,  the  one  seat  that  the  bare  room  afforded. 

Inchcome  looked  at  him,  and  then  with  a  dry  smile  sat 
down  gravely  in  the  proffered  seat.  Jock  remained  standing. 
"  I  thank  you  for  your  kindness  in  coming  here  to  seek  me," 
he  complimented  his  visitor  seriously. 

If  Jock  had  had  any  purpose  of  annoying  Inchcome  with 
grave  mockery,  he  would  have  been  wofuUy  disappointed. 
Esdras  Inchcome  was  not  Martin  Heyroun.  He  looked  at 
Jock  and  chuckled  audibly.  "Captain,"  he  said,  "you  are, 
in  some  respects,  a  wonderful  young  man.  I  hope,  for  all  our 
sakes,  you'll  prove  a  wise  young  man,  eh?  You're  hungry, 
I  take  it—" 

"You're  too  courteous,"  said  Jock. 

"  Well,  supper  waits  for  you  below  —  as  soon  as  you  agree 
to  my  terms  touching  the  little  deal  box." 

Jock  laughed. 

"Come,  come,  boy,  don't  be  a  stubborn  fool !"  said  Inch- 
come, testily. 

They  eyed  each  other  in  the  dusk  that  now  was  settling 
in  the  room.  As  they  were  both,  after  their  kind,  shrewd 
men,  they  wasted  no  time  in  argument.     "Well,"  said  Jock, 


FROM  AN  ATTIC  WINDOW  73 

at  length,  "what  is  it  to  be,  sir?  A  rope's  end,  as  Martin 
Heyroun  suggested,  or  hghted  match,  as  that  sweet  youth, 
the  heu tenant,  advised?" 

Inchcome  raised  a  protesting  hand.  "You  play  the  child. 
Captain,"  said  he,  "  to  speak  in  such  a  strain.  I  am  a  man 
of  law,  remember,  and  you  shall  be  dealt  with  by  just  legal 
methods,  I  promise  you."  He  rose  and  walked  slowly  to  the 
door,  but  there  he  halted,  and  with  his  chilling  little  smile 
fronted  Jock.  "I  shall  come  in  the  morning  to  ask  you  for 
the  deal  box,  and  'twill  be  for  the  last  time,"  he  explained. 
"  If  you  still  refuse  to  yield  it  up,  I  shall  take  you  to-morrow, 
under  guard,  to  Burj'^  St.  Edmund's,  where  you  will  be  brought 
before  the  justices  as  a  common  thief." 

Involuntarily  Jock  made  a  step  toward  the  speaker,  but 
Inchcome  fronted  him  without  flinching.  "Captain  Wogan 
and  two  of  his  troopers  are  just  without,"  he  said.  "  I  should 
be  loath  to  call  them  in." 

Jock  turned  from  him,  and  sitting  down  upon  the  bed, 
forced  himself  to  be  quiet,  though  he  clenched  his  hands  as 
he  sat.  "Well  —  your  justices?"  he  said  after  a  moment. 
"They  won't  dare  convict  me." 

"Nay,  but  they  will,"  Inchcome  replied.  "'Twas  a  noto- 
rious theft  you  committed  here  at  Graystones,  before  actual 
warfare  began,  and  our  good  folk,  here  in  the  county,  have 
no  love  to  gentlemen  of  your  party.  My  brother  magistrates 
will  convict  you,  sir,  of  the  theft  of  that  deal  box,  and  do 
you  know  the  penalty  that  we  mete  out  to  thieves?" 

Jock  moistened  his  lips  before  he  answered,  "No." 

"You  will  be  whipped  at  the  market  cross,"  said  Inchcome, 
"  forty  lashes  or  more  on  the  naked  back  in  the  open  market. 
Then  you  will  spend  six  months  in  the  jail." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  ere  Jock  lifted  his  head. 
"Well,"  said  he,  with  a  quiet  sincerity  that  carried  conviction, 
"when  I  am  freed  of  the  jail,  I  shall  go  seek  you,  sir." 


74  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Inchcome  chuckled.  "An  assault  would  mean  worse  than 
the  jail,"  he  said,  "and  murder  would  mean  worse  than  all. 
Come,  come,  yield  up  the  box,  sir.  'Tis  your  only  course, 
unless  you  are  fain  of  a  public  whipping." 

So  saying,  Inchcome  went  quietly  from  the  room,  and  Jock, 
sitting  with  bent  head  and  clenched  hands,  waited  until  he 
heard  the  last  footstep  die  away  on  the  stair.  Then  he 
dropped  down  upon  his  bed  and  buried  his  face  in  his  arms. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


NIGHT   WANDEKER 


At  the  moment,  to  confess  an  unlovely  truth,  Jock  was 
more  thoroughly  cowed  than  ever  he  had  been,  even  in  the 
course  of  a  life  that,  though  short,  had  known  more  of  kicks 
than  of  caresses.  By  Inchcome's  diabolic  ingenuity  he  was 
required  to  face  the  precise  kind  of  shameful  punishment  that 
was  best  adapted  to  kill  what  courage  was  left  him,  and  he 
was  required  to  face  it  at  precisely  the  time  when,  weakened 
with  thirst  and  hunger  and  solitary  brooding,  he  was  physi- 
cally most  unfitted  to  endure  it.  If  he  had  known  the  hiding- 
place  of  the  deal  box,  beyond  all  question  he  would  have  told 
it,  or  anything  else  by  which  he  could  have  purchased  immu- 
nity, but  so  cruelly  was  his  dilemma  contrived  that,  with  the 
best  will  in  the  world,  he  had  not  the  power  to  make  the  resti- 
tution that  was  the  price  of  his  safety. 

Broken  and  hopeless,  he  lay  for  an  unmarked  time  face 
down  upon  his  bed.  At  first,  too  stunned  to  plan  for  his  re- 
lief or  even  think  coherently,  he  could  only  wonder  why 
this  thing  had  befallen  him,  and  then  how  he  was  to  bear 
it,  and  by  such  stages  he  found  himself  picturing,  with  more 
and  more  cruel  distinctness,  just  what  it  was  that  he  must 
bear.  In  his  mind's  eye  he  saw  the  swarming  market-place 
of  a  dingy  town  and  the  faces  of  people  that  crowded  the  over- 
hanging windows,  and  he  seemed  to  hear  the  jeers  of  the  crowd 
and  the  laughter  of  brazen  women.     It  was  in  such  a  place, 

75 


76  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

the  sport  of  such  a  rabble,  that  he  must  stand  up,  bound, 
stripped,  a  convicted  thief. 

At  that  point  the  lately  broken  and  dispirited  Jock  sat  up. 
"Now  renounce  my  soul  to  hell  if  ever  they  shall  strip  and 
whip  me  1"  he  said  in  savage  anger,  and  in  that  anger  lay  his 
salvation. 

As  long  as  he  had  sought  to  run  from  the  whipping  because 
he  was  afraid  of  it,  he  had  floundered  hopelessly  in  a  black 
morass  of  circumstance,  but  now  when  he  looked  upon  it  as  a 
thing  to  be  avoided  because  the  He3Touns,  his  enemies,  de- 
sired him  to  meet  it,  when,  in  short,  he  ceased  to  waste  strength 
in  pitying  himself  as  a  victim  and  turned  all  his  energies  to 
hating  and  baffling  his  persecutors,  he  found  himself  on  firm 
ground  once  more.  He  was  going  to  escape  out  of  the  hands 
of  the  Heyrouns.  That  much  was  clear,  and  according  to 
custom,  when  he  had  made  up  his  mind  as  to  what  was  the 
immediate  need  of  the  moment,  he  set  to  work  to  supply  it, 
without  a  single  disheartening  thought  as  to  what  should  come 
next. 

The  ensuing  fifteen  minutes  were  busy  ones  for  Jock.  He 
did  a  little  brisk  thinking;  he  tried  the  firmly  locked  door; 
he  inspected  the  narrow  window,  all  the  time  with  anger  at 
the  Heyrouns  waxing  great  within  him.  Then,  groping  in  the 
dark,  he  wrote  on  the  wall  with  his  bit  of  chalk,  by  way  of 
valedictory :  — 

"  I  thanke  you  forr  ye  bedde  but  ye  horde  was  nott  to  my  likeinge. 
"  JoK  Heddrinton  (nott  Captaine  Heddrinton)." 

This  done,  he  slipped  off  his  doublet  and  boots,  bound  them 
together  with  his  bit  of  cord,  and  after  securing  one  end  to  a 
nail  just  within  the  window-ledge,  dropped  the  bundle  out  upon 
the  roof.  Finally,  when  he  had  made  these  simple  prepara- 
tions, he  accomplished  the  impossible  by  crawling  feet  first 


NIGHT  WANDERER  77 

through  the  window,  which,  to  any  sane  mind,  was  obviously 
too  narrow  to  give  passage  to  his  body. 

Jock  had  to  favor  him  the  facts  that  he  had  laid  off  his  doub- 
let, that  he  knew  how  to  carry  his  arms,  outstretched  above 
his  head,  so  as  to  make  his  shoulders  as  narrow  as  possible, 
that  he  was  wasted  to  unusual  thinness  with  days  of  short 
commons,  but  even  so  he  would  never  have  succeeded  in  the 
attempt,  had  he  not  been  in  an  extraordinary  mood  of  des- 
peration. For  one  hideous  second  indeed  he  felt  his  shoulders 
caught  and  held  as  in  a  vice,  but  thinking  on  the  Heyrouns, 
he  slowly  worked  himself  free.  With  his  shirt  in  ribbons  and 
his  back  rased  and  sore,  he  found  himself  at  last  outside  of  the 
window,  a  free  man  again,  and  in  that  moment  of  jubilation 
he  felt  himself  gently  sliding  down  the  roof  and  remembered, 
for  the  first  time,  that  the  slope  ended  in  a  sheer  fall,  presmn- 
ably  of  two  stories,  to  the  garden  below. 

For  some  desperate  moments  Jock  clung  to  the  window- 
ledge,  lying  face  down  with  his  arms  at  full  stretch  above  his 
head  and  his  feet  groping  vainly  for  support.  Far  off  in  the 
darkness  he  heard  the  whistle  of  a  stone  curlew,  a  sound  that 
he  was  destined  for  long  thereafter  to  associate  with  the  smell 
of  mouldering  lichens  that  grew  upon  the  roof  and  the  sensa- 
tion of  sweat  starting  on  his  neck  and  temples.  He  felt  the 
strength  ebb  in  his  straining  arms  and  a  deathly  faintness 
surge  over  him.  He  knew  the  danger  of  a  physical  collapse 
at  that  moment,  and,  one  fear  driving  out  another,  caught  at 
his  slipping  self-control.  After  all,  he  told  himself,  it  would 
be  no  worse  to  be  dashed  to  pieces  on  the  garden  walk  than  to 
die  in  his  prison  by  his  own  hand,  as  he  had  thought  of  doing, 
could  he  find  no  other  way  of  escape  from  the  mercy  of  the 
Hejrrouns. 

At  thought  of  the  Heyrouns  Jock  became  steady  again,  and 
looked  about  to  see  what  should  be  his  next  move.  He  had 
hoped  to  be  able  to  climb  from  his  window  to  the  roof  above, 


78  THE  FAIE  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

but  he  found  that  the  window  was  set  in  the  face  of  a  gablet, 
so  tall  that  to  climb  up  it  was  out  of  the  question.  He 
must  then  go  down,  as  fate  and  the  laws  of  gravitation 
plainly  intended  him  to  go,  so,  with  some  natural  qualms,  he 
released  his  hold  on  the  window-ledge.  For  an  ugly  moment 
or  two  he  expected  each  second  to  shoot  of!  into  space,  but 
fate  at  last  fought  on  the  losing  side,  and  presently  he  found 
himself  checked  in  his  descent  by  the  hollow  curve  of  the 
sagging  roof. 

From  that  point  Jock's  course  was  comparatively  simple. 
He  could  not  go  up;  he  could  not  go  down  any  farther  unless 
he  wished  to  risk  a  broken  neck;  therefore  he  must  go  round. 
This  he  proceeded  to  do,  and,  with  his  recovered  bundle  tied 
to  his  belt,  he  edged  inch  by  inch  along  the  narrow  beam  at 
the  base  of  the  right-hand  gable.  It  was  a  feat  possible  only 
for  a  cat  or  a  most  desperate  man.  When  Jock  rounded 
the  corner  of  the  gable  and  stepped  at  last  upon  a  piece  of 
safe  and  gently  sloping  roof,  he  fell  upon  his  face  and  lay 
trembling,  with  the  sweat  pouring  off  him  and  his  hands 
clutching  convulsively  at  the  rough  surface  of  the  tiles. 

Little  by  little  the  fresh  breeze  and  the  healing  quiet  of  the 
night  revived  him.  Tremulously  he  sat  up  and  looked  at  the 
stars.  It  must  be  hard  on  midnight,  he  reasoned,  and  if  he 
were  to  baffle  the  Heyrouns,  he  should  waste  no  more  time  in 
lingering.  Hurriedly  he  drew  on  his  doublet  and  boots,  and 
then  he  set  himself  to  the  third  stage  of  his  escape,  namely, 
the  discovering  of  a  way  from  the  roof  of  Graystones  to  the 
ground. 

In  the  hundred  years  and  more  in  which  the  old  house  had 
stood,  it  may  well  be  questioned  if  any  one  had  ever  explored 
its  roofs  with  such  painful  care  as  Jock  used  on  that  starry 
autumn  night.  He  climbed  up,  and  he  climbed  down,  and 
emboldened  by  his  success  in  the  hair-raising  feat  of  crossing 
the  gable-end,  took  desperate  chances,  and  came  to  no  harm 


NIGHT  WANDERER  79 

thereby.  He  found  a  rook's  nest,  and  he  found  a  leak  in  the 
roof,  and  he  found  a  number  of  details  of  structure  that  would 
have  interested  an  architect.  He  barked  his  knees,  and  he 
bruised  his  hands,  and,  most  superfluously,  tore  his  clothes. 
Once,  when  he  scouted  perilously  along  the  edge  of  the  west- 
ern roof,  he  heard  a  casement  clatter  open  below  him  and  a 
querulous  female  voice  cry :  "  Puss !  Puss !  What  can  ail 
the  cat?"  which  so  alarmed  him  that  he  lay  quiet  for  some 
minutes.  But  with  all  his  ramblings  and  adventures,  from 
the  highest  chimney  to  the  lowest  gable  of  the  main  roof,  he 
found  no  tree,  nor  vine,  nor  projecting  bit  of  masonry  that 
by  any  chance  would  give  him  passage  to  the  ground. 

Tired  and  well-nigh  discouraged,  Jock  stopped  at  last  in  an 
angle  of  the  eastern  roof,  and  sitting  there,  watched  listlessly 
while  the  waning  moon  rose  above  the  dark  horizon  line, 
which  he  judged  must  be  the  sea.  He  watched  the  white 
light  broaden  on  the  open  country  and  noted  each  moment 
some  fresh  detail  of  tree  or  bush  or  threadlike  footpath 
through  the  fields  below  him.  Then,  as  he  let  his  eyes  fall 
nearer  home,  he  noted  at  his  left  hand  a  casement  that  pro- 
jected never  so  little  beyond  the  end  of  a  gable,  and  the  gable 
was  like  to  the  one  that  earlier  in  the  evening  he  had  skirted. 
Slowly  he  formed  a  crazy  plan.  If  he  could  not  descend  by 
the  outside  of  the  house,  as  obviously  he  could  not,  without 
wings,  why  not  go  down  inside  the  house  ?  Pitfalls  and  am- 
buscades he  might  find  in  plenty,  but  at  worst  he  could  only 
be  recaptured,  and  that  same  fate  would  be  his,  should  he  sit 
supinely  on  the  roof  all  night. 

Having  made  his  resolution,  Jock  promptly  put  it  into 
practice.  Five  minutes  later,  standing  on  a  three-inch  beam 
and  clutching  for  dear  life  to  the  window-ledge,  he  thrust  the 
chosen  casement  wide  with  his  elbow.  Within  he  saw  a  white 
patch  of  moonlight  on  dark  boards,  the  dim  bulk  of  a  four- 
posted  bed,  and  then,  in  far  greater  fear  of  the  dizzy  fall  be- 


80  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRATSTONES 

hind  him  than  of  what  might  wait  before,  he  swung  one  leg 
over  the  window-ledge  and  dropped  quietly  to  the  floor  of  the 
chamber. 

At  that  moment,  getting  better  wonted  to  the  dim  light, 
Jock  saw  that  the  bed  was  tenanted.  A  dark  and  beautiful 
young  woman,  in  a  wrought  nightcap,  sat  up  among  the  cov- 
erlets with  her  hands  pressed  to  her  breast.  She  looked  at 
him  with  wide,  startled  eyes,  and  very  naturally  opened  her 
mouth  to  scream. 

It  was  not  a  time  for  small  conventionalities.  Jock  reached 
the  bed  in  two  swift  and  soundless  strides,  and  flinging  one 
arm  about  the  young  woman,  clapped  his  free  hand  across  her 
mouth.  "Don't  scream.  Mistress  Mallory  !"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "I'll  do  you  no  harm  if  you'll  be  quiet.  And  don't 
bite!"  he  added  warningly. 

There  was  a  moment  of  intense  silence,  then  the  wrought 
nightcap,  resting  perforce  against  Jock's  breast,  gave  a  nod  of 
acquiescence,  and  he  slightly  relaxed  his  hold.  "  You  —  you 
shameless  ruffian!"  said  Blanche  Mallory,  in  a  stifled  voice. 
"What  do  you  seek  of  me?" 

"Mere  civility,"  Jock  answered.  "You  visited  me  last 
night,  mistress.     Now  I  return  the  compliment." 

The  girl  had  mastered  her  first  bewilderment  and  natural 
terror.  She  looked  up  at  him  with  good  courage  and  scorn  in 
plenty  in  her  eyes.  "  You  are  apt  at  playing  the  swaggerer," 
she  said,  "  when  you  deal  with  a  woman.  If  you  have  to  deal 
with  men,  perchance — " 

"I  shouldn't  call  them,"  Jock  suggested.  "There'll  be  ex- 
planations for  you,  mistress,  to  make  to  Captain  Wogan.  I'm 
Captain  Hetherington,  remember.  And  'tis  passing  strange, 
and  will  so  seem  in  Wogan's  sight,  that  in  the  first  hour  of  his 
freedom  Captain  Hetherington  sought  your  chamber."  For 
an  instant  he  met  the  full  force  of  the  blazing  anger  in  her 
dark  eyes,  and  then  he  saw  it  sink  and  die  to  abject  fear.    He 


NIGHT  WANDERER  81 

let  fall  his  arm  that  held  her  and  stepped  back  from  the  bed- 
side.    "  You  will  not  call,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  and  wrung  her  hands  together  where 
they  rested  on  her  knees.  "What  do  you  seek  of  me?"  she 
asked  again  dully. 

"Both  our  profits,"  he  replied.  "Look  you,  mistress,  if  I 
go  away  —  I  that  am  Captain  Hetherington  —  Wogan  will 
forget,  and  above  all,  he  will  never  discover  that  there  is 
another  Hetherington,  who  might  tell  him  much  if  he  were 
questioned.     Is  it  not  better  that  I  steal  away  quietly?" 

She  looked  at  him  and  seemed  to  ponder,  interlacing  her 
fingers  the  while.  "How  shall  I  aid  you?"  she  questioned 
at  last  abruptly. 

"Tell  me  the  safest  way  out  of  the  house  and  my  surest 
path  northward." 

Whatever  her  faults.  Mistress  Mallory  had  the  virtues  of 
prompt  decision  and  succinct  speech.  "To  the  left  down 
the  passage,"  she  said,  "and  so  down  the  stair  at  the  back  of 
the  house.  In  the  passage  below  is  a  door  that  opens  on  the 
stableyard,  but  since  Wogan  is  quartered  here,  some  of  his 
troopers  lie  in  the  chambers  above  the  stables,  so  do  not  risk 
going  that  way.  Turn  again  to  your  left,  cross  the  outer  hall 
till  you  reach  a  passage  that  is  flagged.  Follow  this  past  the 
kitchen,  and  you  will  come  to  a  door  that  leads  into  a  little 
paved  court.  Scale  the  wall  that  is  before  you,  and  you  will 
gain  the  paddock,  and  beyond  the  paddock  is  the  lane  that 
runs  northward  to  Heronswood.  Avoid  the  village,  for  the 
rest  of  Wogan's  troop,  under  Lieutenant  Heyroun,  are  quar- 
tered there.     Does  this  content  you?" 

"  I  am  your  servant,"  said  Jock,  with  a  grave  bow.  "  As 
man  to  man"  —  in  his  own  despite  he  smiled  —  "I  thank 
you." 

Said  Mistress  Mallory,  most  fervently,  "I  pray  Heaven  I 
never  set  eyes  on  you  again !" 


82  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

"Amen!"  said  Jock,  and  stepping  softly,  passed  from  her 
chamber  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

He  had  no  great  faith  in  the  girl's  honesty,  but  he  believed 
that  for  her  own  advantage  she  might  abet  his  escape,  and, 
in  any  case,  he  might  as  well  trust  to  her  guidance  as  plunge 
blindly  into  the  labyrinth  of  Graystones.  He  turned  to  the 
left  down  the  passage,  and  felt  his  way  with  infinite  caution 
until,  to  his  joy,  he  reached  the  head  of  a  stair.  So  far,  at 
least.  Mistress  Mallory  had  kept  faith,  and  with  quickening 
hope  he  stole  down  the  stair,  crept  across  the  outer  hall,  and 
groped  along  the  passage  till  he  reached  the  door  that  led  to 
the  little  court. 

As  Jock  laid  hand  to  the  latch,  he  heard  a  sudden  thud  and 
a  patter  of  little  feet.  For  an  instant  he  nearly  lost  control 
of  himself,  but  next  moment  he  was  ready  to  laugh  at  his 
fears,  as  the  family  cat,  who  had  once  that  night  been  his 
scapegoat,  came  rubbing  and  purring  about  his  legs.  Swiftly 
he  pieced  together  the  circumstances.  Probably  puss  had 
been  thieving  in  the  kitchen  adjacent  to  the  passage,  where 
food  was  to  be  found,  and  if  the  cat  could  find  food,  surely  a 
hungry  man  could  do  likewise.  There  were  risks,  yes,  but 
there  were  also  risks  in  going  forth,  half-starved  and  weak, 
into  a  hostile  country.  Whichever  way  he  looked,  there  were 
risks  to  be  run,  and  now  that  he  thought  upon  it,  he  was 
near  crazed  with  hunger. 

As  Jock  found  that  last  argument  irrefutable,  he  groped  his 
way  through  the  open  door  on  his  right  into  the  flag-paved 
kitchen.  He  had  only  the  faintest  moonlight  to  aid  him,  but 
he  caught  a  pale  reflection  given  back  from  the  surface  of  a 
bucket  of  water  that  stood  on  a  form.  He  stepped  thither 
and  drank  eagerly,  thirstily,  thankfully,  though  with  prudent 
moderation.  Breathing  deep  for  comfort,  he  stood  up  at  last, 
and  moving  warily,  searched  the  kitchen  for  food.  He  found 
a  cupboard,  but  it  was  locked,  and  he  found  a  dish,  but  the 


NIGHT  WANDERER  83 

cat  had  licked  it  clean.  Almost  in  despair  of  supper,  he  passed 
out  of  the  kitchen  into  what  seemed  a  promising  pantry.  He 
had  not  even  the  faint  moonlight  of  the  kitchen  to  aid  him  in 
these  dark  recesses,  but  with  his  hands  he  found  a  shelf  and 
groped  along  it. 

At  that  moment  Jock  became  aware  of  a  faint,  creaking 
sound.  "It's  the  cat,"  he  told  himself,  and  then  he  stopped, 
frozen  in  his  tracks.  It  was  not  the  cat.  It  was  a  cautious 
human  footstep,  and  it  drew  nearer  and  nearer.  Mechani- 
cally he  moved  his  hand  a  little,  and  in  so  doing,  touched  the 
handle  of  a  knife.  He  caught  at  it  eagerly,  for  even  a  bread 
knife  were  better  than  no  weapon  at  all.  He  stepped  to  the 
half-closed  door  of  the  pantry,  crouched  low,  with  the  knife 
in  his  hand,  and  waited. 

He  heard  the  footsteps  just  without  in  the  kitchen.  Through 
the  crack  of  the  door  he  saw  a  faint  glow  of  candlelight  steal 
along  the  flagstones.  He  heard  the  footsteps  nearer,  nearer. 
Oh,  a  pretty  trick  that  lying  jade  had  played  him !  With  a 
prayer  that  his  would-be  captor  might  prove  to  be  Lambert 
Wogan,  he  swung  back  the  knife,  ready  to  strike. 

The  door,  behind  which  he  was  sheltered,  was  flung  wide. 
In  the  opening,  candle  in  hand  and  her  russet  cloak  draped 
about  her,  stood  Althea  Lovewell,  and  looked  with  amazed 
eyes  at  the  apparition  that  confronted  her.  "  0  Gemini ! " 
said  Althea  Lovewell. 


CHAPTER  rX 


EACH  TO  HIS  OWN 


Having  said,  "0  Gemini!"  Althea,  with  great  presence  of 
mind,  dropped  the  candle. 

Jock  saw  the  broken  orbit  that  the  falling  light  described, 
and  then  saw  the  Uttle  flame  snuffed  out  with  the  wind  of  its 
own  fall.  He  felt  the  darkness,  blacker  for  the  instant  of  light, 
close  round  him,  and  through  the  dark  he  sensed  that  the 
girl  was  stealing  away.  For  one  moment  he  felt  the  savage 
impulse  to  catch  her  in  his  arms  and  smother  the  outcries 
that  were  sure  to  come,  just  as  he  had  done  in  the  case  of 
Blanche  Mallory,  but  for  some  reason  he  hesitated.  Perhaps 
it  was  because  he  remembered  Esdras  Inchcome's  saying,  that 
repetitions  were  wearisome  and  ofttimes  unadvisable;  per- 
haps it  was  because  he  was  too  tired  in  body  and  in  spirit  for 
any  sudden  action;  perhaps  it  was  because  he  had  a  vague 
sense  that  this  girl  was  of  different  metal  from  Mistress  Mal- 
lory and  to  be  differently  entreated. 

In  any  case,  he  stood  quiet  for  an  appreciable  moment,  and 
with  breath  indrawn  waited  for  the  scream  that  the  girl  was 
sure  to  give.  He  heard  no  sound,  and  then,  on  desperate  im- 
pulse, he  spoke  huskily,  "U  you  cry  for  help,  mistress,  the 
game  is  ended  for  me." 

Out  of  the  darkness  her  voice  answered,  low  and  with  a 
little  tremor  that  belied  the  steadiness  of  the  words :  "  I  have 
not  cried  out,  have  I  ?  Pray  you,  Mr.  Hetherington,  lay  down 
that  knife  1" 

84 


EACH  TO  HIS  OWN  86 

Jock  obeyed,  and  more  than  obeyed.  As  if  his  muscles  of 
their  own  will  responded  to  her  words,  he  dropped  the  bread 
knife,  and  in  the  same  second,  with  equal  lack  of  intent, 
dropped  himself  to  the  floor  of  the  pantry.  He  did  not 
try  to  explain  how  or  why  he  landed  on  the  floor,  but  he 
felt  that  he  had  had  enough,  for  one  night,  of  scapes  and 
startling  encounters.  He  heard,  very  far  in  the  distance, 
a  little  agitated  stir  of  garments,  a  rush  of  swift  feet,  and  then 
he  saw  the  flicker  of  the  relighted  candle,  and  shut  his  eyes 
against  the  light.  When  he  opened  them  again,  he  saw  Althea 
bending  over  him. 

Guiltily  Jock  tried  to  drag  himself  to  his  knees.  "I  —  I 
must  have  stumbled,"  he  explained  in  a  voice  that  to  his 
ears  sounded  remote. 

"You're  starving!"  said  the  girl,  and  either  his  sight  was 
playing  him  tricks,  or  else  her  eyes  pitied  him. 

"I  —  have  been  —  less  hungry,"  he  jested  brokenly,  and 
sank  back  again  where  he  lay. 

After  another  drowsy  interval  of  semiconsciousness  he  grew 
aware  of  the  light  of  the  candle,  and  he  realized  that  the  candle- 
stick was  set  upon  the  kitchen  hearth,  easily  within  his  range 
of  vision  as  he  looked  through  the  open  door  of  the  pantry. 
He  saw  that  the  flame  of  the  candle  wavered,  as  if  a  casement 
somewhere  were  set  wide,  but,  save  for  that  little  movement 
of  the  candle-flame  and  the  corresponding  movement  of  the 
shadows  on  the  bare  walls  and  the  flagged  pavement  of  the 
kitchen,  he  saw  no  sign  of  life.  He  judged  that  the  girl  had 
gone  away,  to  rouse  the  household,  perhaps,  but  it  was  of  no 
great  matter  —  nothing  mattered  to  him  much,  except  that 
his  neck  was  aching,  where  his  shoulders  were  propped  against 
the  wall. 

To  relieve  the  ache,  he  pulled  himself  to  his  knees,  and 
so  crawled  out  into  the  kitchen.  He  felt  the  night  air  from 
the  open  casement,  cool  and  clear  upon  his  face,  heartening 


86  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

and  good  as  a  draught  of  water.  He  breathed  deep,  reviving 
with  each  breath,  and  thanks  to  such  restorative,  found 
strength  to  stagger  across  the  room.  There  he  sank  down 
on  the  raised  hearthstone,  with  his  back  against  the  side  of 
the  great  oven,  and  waited  for  what  fate  should  send  next. 

He  was  wondering  if  Captain  Wogan  or  perhaps  Esdras 
Inchcome  would  be  first  in  the  field,  when  Althea  came  softly 
into  the  kitchen.  For  a  moment  she  paused  listening  on  the 
threshold,  with  her  face  turned  to  the  darkness  of  the  passage, 
then  she  closed  the  door  noiselessly  behind  her  and  came 
toward  the  hearth.  As  she  drew  nearer,  so  that  Jock  saw 
her  face  in  the  candlelight,  he  felt  a  guilty  hotness  in  his 
cheeks.  He  was  not  proud  of  the  suspicion  that  had  made 
him  think  this  girl  had  gone  to  betray  him. 

"Was  I  long  gone?"  Althea  questioned,  and  her  voice  was 
gentler  than  he  had  guessed  from  what  he  had  seen  and  heard 
of  her.  "  I  durst  not  take  the  candle  into  the  great  hall  lest 
some  one  spy  me.  I  had  to  grope  my  way.  'Tis  wine  that 
they  left  at  supper.     Drink!" 

She  carried  in  one  hand  a  flagon,  he  noted  now,  withdraw- 
ing his  eyes  from  her  face,  and  while  he  drank,  she  steadied 
the  flagon  at  his  lips.  This  she  did  with  a  comradeship,  and 
an  unconsciousness  of  anything  but  comradeship,  that  would 
have  become  a  fellow-soldier,  and  when  he  realized  this,  and, 
knowing  much  of  other  manners  in  women,  appreciated  it, 
he  became  shy  and  circumspect. 

For  it  was  characteristic  of  this  man,  so  newly  arrived  at 
manhood,  that  when  he  fronted  conditions  or  folk  that  to 
him  were  unfamiliar,  he  became  a  boy  again.  In  St.  Andrew's 
church,  facing  soldiers  to  whom  he  was  used,  he  had  borne 
himself  with  assurance,  while  in  the  hall  at  Graystones, 
pitted  against  civilians  whom  he  did  not  understand,  he  had 
been  bewildered  and  hesitant.  In  like  fashion,  where  he 
had  borne  himself  as  a  seasoned  campaigner  toward  Mistress 


EACH  TO  HIS  OWN  87 

Mallory,  whose  type  he  knew,  in  the  presence  of  this  Uttle 
Althea  with  the  honest  eyes,  a  mere  young  girl,  such  as  he  had 
seldom  accosted,  he  turned  boy  again,  gentle  and  respectful 
to  a  degree  that  Mistress  Mallory  would  have  sworn  impos- 
sible in  him. 

In  her.  own  good  time,  Althea  set  down  the  flagon  on  the 
broad  hearth.  "  Now,"  said  she,  with  motherly  eyes  on  Jock, 
"  I'll  seek  you  out  some  supper.  If  ever  again  you  go  a-foray- 
ing  for  food,  here  where  my  Aunt  Difficult  rules,  waste  no  time 
in  exploring  those  closets  that  stand  open.  My  Aunt  Difficult 
holds  that  this,  mine  uncle's  great  house  of  Graystones,  is 
to  be  ordered  like  her  own  starveling  grange  by  Clegden  vil- 
lage. Wherefore  to  conclude,  in  the  phrase  of  my  cousin 
Jarvis,  the  parson,  the  very  crumbs  of  the  table,  yea,  even  the 
bare  soup-bones,  languish  thriftily  under  lock  and  key." 

While  she  ran  on  in  this  strain,  somewhat,  it  seemed,  to 
set  Jock  at  ease,  and  somewhat  to  do  the  like  kind  service  by 
herself,  Althea  had  mounted  on  a  stool  and  with  a  dexterity 
that  suggested  old  experience  had  taken  down  a  key  from  its 
hiding-place  upon  a  dark  rafter.  With  this  key  she  unfas- 
tened the  cupboard  that  so  short  a  time  before  had  baffled 
Jock's  efforts,  and  from  its  depths  drew  forth  a  fresh  quartern 
loaf,  the  half  of  a  boiled  mallard,  and  a  delectable  seeming 
mutton  pasty.  These  she  ranged  on  the  hearthstone,  and 
with  a  gesture  bade  Jock  fall  to. 

It  was  to  his  credit  perhaps  that,  with  two  days  of  hunger 
behind  him  and  with  food  in  reach  of  his  hand,  he  still  had 
the  strength  and  the  grace  to  hold  himself  in  check.  "As 
your  guest,  is  it?"  he  asked,  looking  up  at  her. 

For  the  second  time  in  his  life,  he  saw  the  sudden  flashing 
smile  light  up  Althea's  face.  "How  else?"  she  questioned, 
sitting  down  on  the  hearth.  "I  too  am  near  starved.  My 
Aunt  Difficult  sent  me  supperless  to  bed,  but  as  you  see,  I 
had  no  thought  of  sleeping  supperless." 


88  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

With  such  brief  ceremony  the  strangely  sorted  pair  began 
their  meal.  At  first,  between  shyness  and  hunger,  they  inter- 
changed few  words.  Save  for  the  faint  stir  of  the  night  wind 
at  the  open  casement  and  the  flicker  of  the  guttering  candle, 
it  was  very  still  in  the  dim  kitchen.  Once  the  half-open  door 
of  the  pantry  creaked  on  its  hinges,  and  in  the  silence  the  unex- 
pected sound  was  startlingly  loud.  Althea  gave  a  little  gasp 
of  apprehension,  and  Jock,  in  his  own  despite,  glanced  toward 
the  door  to  the  passage. 

Linked  in  sympathy  by  their  fear,  they  drew  a  little  closer 
where  they  sat  upon  the  hearth,  and  Althea  put  into  words 
their  common  thought.  "It  was  no  more  than  the  wind. 
But  if  any  one  should  come  —  'twould  go  ill  with  you,  would 
it  not?" 

Jock  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  reached  for  a  second  piece 
of  bread.     "What  of  you?"  he  asked. 

"  Why,  they  would  rate  me,  my  aunts  and  my  uncle.  They 
do  it  so  often  that  now  I  scarce  heed  them."  She  spoke 
hardily,  but  her  lip  quivered  never  so  little. 

"I've  known  gentler  folk  than  those  that  dwell  at  Gray- 
stones,"  Jock  supplemented.  "  So  you're  a  niece  to  the  whole 
jovy  fellowship?" 

Althea  nodded.  Now  that  she  had  satisfied  her  hunger, 
she  sat  back  on  the  hearth  with  her  cloak  huddled  about  her, 
and  suddenly,  as  if  she  felt  relief  at  unburdening  herself,  she 
began  the  very  story  that  Jock  was  aching  to  hear.  "My 
mother  was  their  sister  —  Philip's  and  Martin's  and  Benja- 
min's. There  have  always  been  Heyrouns  here  at  Herons- 
wood,  you  must  know,  sir.  The  old  manor  house  stands  at 
the  other  end  of  the  village,  hard  by  the  church.  They  had 
the  house  and  the  name  of  gentlefolk,  but  they  had  little  else 
till  my  Uncle  Philip's  day,  he  that  died  last  June." 

"I  know,"  said  Jock,  "he  that  did  not  die  An.  Dom.  1605." 

"  No,"  said  Althea,  "  that  was  my  grandfather.    My  Uncle 


EACH  TO  HIS  OWN  89 

Philip,  he  of  whom  I  spoke,  went  up  to  London  and  became 
a  Turkey-merchant  and  built  him  a  vast  fortune.  He  made 
his  brother  Martin  the  master  of  one  of  his  great  ships,  and 
his  brother  Benjamin  was  one  of  his  factors.  Indeed,  he 
made  the  fortunes  of  all  his  kindred.  He  was  a  generous 
soul  and  kind  at  heart,  though  ofttimes  violent  in  his  speech. 
He  married  a  gentlewoman  named  Mallory,  the  aunt  of  Mis- 
tress Blanche  Mallory,  but  they  had  no  children." 

"Come,  I  begin  to  see  daylight  \"  said  Jock.  "There  was 
no  entail?    And  his  estate  was  large?" 

To  both  questions  Althea  nodded.  "He  bought  his  heirs 
to  forego  their  legal  claim  to  Heronswood  manor.  There  was 
no  entail.  He  could  dispose  of  his  estate  as  liked  him  best, 
and  'tis  a  very  great  estate.  There  is  the  old  house  of  Herons- 
wood,  and  this  house  that  my  uncle  bought  of  the  Earl  of 
Wiltersey,  and  there  are  divers  good  farmsteads  here  in  the 
countryside,  and  houses  and  shops  in  London,  and  ships  that 
are  at  sea,  and  moneys  besides,  and  great  sums  that  still  are 
owing  from  brother  merchants.  It  is  a  very  great  estate,  so 
you  can  judge  how  eager  were  my  kinsmen  to  have  the  squan- 
dering of  it.  Such  protestations  of  love  as  they  made  to  my 
Uncle  Philip !  Such  speed  did  they  show  in  doing  his  bid- 
ding !  Such  jealous  hatred  as  they  bore  to  each  other !  Oh, 
this  has  been  a  merry  house  to  dwell  in,  Mr.  Hetherington !" 

"  They  are  merry  folk  that  dwell  herein,"  said  Jock,  with  a 
ruefulness  that  moved  them  both  to  smile.  "  And  your  good 
uncle  made  a  will  at  last?" 

"Oh,  many  wills,"  said  Althea.  "After  he  had  quarrelled 
with  his  nephew  Rafe  that  had  been  his  favorite,  it  became 
his  practice  to  quarrel  with  all  his  kinsfolk  in  turn,  and  he 
made  his  will  to  square  with  the  liking  of  the  moment.  There- 
fore he  would  send  for  Esdras  Inchcome  and  make  his  will 
at  least  twice  a  year,  though  most  times  'twas  to  one  or  the 
other  of  his  nephews  Philip  that  he  bequeathed  his  estate. 


90  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRATSTONES 

But  to  which  of  them  he  left  it  at  the  last,  no  one  but  Esdras 
Inchcome,  who  was  his  lawyer  and  his  lifelong  friend,  can  tell, 
and  he  will  speak  no  word.  All  that  he  tells  us  is  that  my 
Uncle  Philip's  last  two  wills  were  in  the  little  deal  box  that 
he  kept  in  his  chamber — " 

"And  my  kinsman,"  finished  Jock,  "has  borne  away  box 
and  wills." 

"  And,"  said  Althea,  "  if  the  box  and  the  wills  are  not  found, 
'tis  an  old  will  of  mine  uncle's,  made  five  years  agone  when  he 
had  quarrelled  with  every  last  man  of  his  kindred,  that  will 
stand  in  law." 

Jock's  expression  was  yearning.  "Is  it  granted  me  to 
know  its  contents?"  he  asked. 

The  girl  smiled  with  eyes  and  lips.  "Indeed,  you  have 
earned  the  right  to  know  the  truth  of  the  matter.  By  this 
will,  the  only  will  that  they  have  in  hand,  Mr.  Inchcome,  my 
Uncle  Martin,  and  my  cousin  Philip  Heyroun,  the  one  that  is 
not  a  lieutenant,  are  made  executors,  and  they  are  to  pay  the 
debts  of  my  deceased  uncle,  and  some  legacies  to  his  serving 
folk,  and  pay  to  each  of  his  heirs  the  sum  of  four  marks,  and 
then  the  remainder  of  the  estate — " 

There  the  smile  bubbled  over  into  a  noiseless  little  laugh, 
in  which  Jock  speedily  joined.     "I  can  guess!"   said  he. 

"I  defy  youl"  said  she.  "He  has  bequeathed  every 
groat  to  make  good  Christians  of  the  tawny-skinned  heathen 
in  the  New  England  plantations  and  to  provide  dowries  for 
worthy  poor  spinsters  of  London.  And  my  kinsmen  —  think 
but  upon  the  sufferings  of  my  kinsmen  to  be  thus  defrauded !" 

Then,  partly  because  they  were  very  young,  and  partly 
because  they  both  had  little  cause  to  love  the  Heyrouns, 
Jock  and  Althea  joined  in  a  fit  of  smothered  laughter,  and 
they  might  have  exulted  indefinitely,  had  they  not,  in  the 
midst  of  their  unholy  glee,  heard  a  board  snap  in  the  casing. 
At  that  sound  instinctively  they  caught  each  other's  hands, 


EACH  TO  HIS  OWN  91 

no  better  for  the  moment  than  scared  children,  and  they  said, 
"Hush!"  a  number  of  times,  before  they  reaUzed  that  their 
alarm  was  needless. 

Rather  sobered,  Jock  returned  to  the  devastating  of  the 
mutton  pasty,  while  Althea  deftly  began  to  make  up  a  parcel 
of  bread  and  cold  mallard.  For  a  moment  they  busied  them- 
selves in  uneasy  silence,  then  Jock,  consumed  with  curiosity, 
took  up  the  interrupted  story.  "  So  'tis  for  that  your  kins- 
folk are  so  set  to  find  Captain  Hetherington  and  the  deal  box 
and  the  two  wills.     They  have  a  hope,  then — " 

"Sure,  no  will  could  use  them  more  scurvily  than  the  one 
that  now  stands,"  the  girl  answered.  "And  be  sure,  my 
Uncle  Martin  and  his  son  Philip  are  as  confident  that,  under 
the  later  wills,  all  is  left  to  the  said  Philip,  as  my  other  cousin 
Philip  and  his  brother  Jarvis  are  confident  that  all  will  fall 
into  their  clutches.  So  they  all  go  a-hunting  the  deal  box, 
in  a  happy,  zealous  mood  —  all  save  Rafe." 

At  the  mention  of  the  man  who,  seeing  his  plight,  had  yet 
most  politicly  refrained  from  helping  him,  Jock  bit  off  an  ill- 
suppressed  exclamation  that  rang  far  from  complimentary. 

By  that  word  he  struck  fire  from  Althea.  "  'Tis  the  truest 
heart  of  them  all,"  she  came  hotly  to  the  defence  of  the  dark 
Heyroun.  "  You  have  no  right  to  scorn  him  for  that  he  stood 
for  his  mother  rather  than  for  you,  a  complete  stranger.  He 
has  no  concern  in  their  wretched  wills.  He  is  the  only  one 
ever  had  the  manhood  to  speak  his  mind  to  our  Uncle  Philip, 
He  had  been  his  uncle's  heir,  but  he  married  Bel  Wogan,  Cap- 
tain Wogan's  sister,  to  pleasure  himself,  against  his  uncle's 
wishes.  And  'twas  no  light  thing  for  Rafe  to  relinquish  all 
hope  of  a  great  estate.  He  has  a  little  farm  —  they  call  it 
Draycote  —  that  came  to  him  from  his  godfather,  and  he 
gains  a  living  for  his  family,  but  he  loathes  the  farm,  as  all 
can  see.  He  was  patterned  for  larger  ventures,  like  our  Uncle 
Philip  that  is  dead.    And  yet  —  hold  it  to  his  credit  I  —  he 


92  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

that  80  hates  to  live  and  die  a  mere  country  gentleman  would 
never  seek  to  cozen  Uncle  Philip  of  his  favors.  He  is  an  hon- 
est man,  I  tell  you!" 

Jock's  face  was  still  doubtful,  even  contemptuous,  and 
moved  by  that  expression  the  girl  added,  with  something  like 
a  sob,  "  And  he  is  the  only  one  of  them  all  that  has  ever  been 
kind  to  me." 

"Then  they  are  not  kind  to  you  here?"  Jock  took  her  up. 
He  pushed  aside  the  empty  dish  that  had  held  the  pasty,  and 
turned  to  his  companion.  "  You've  told  me  all,  except  about 
yourself,"  he  hinted. 

Althea  looked  down,  and  began  twisting  the  loose  clasp  at 
the  throat  of  her  russet  cloak.  "There  is  little  to  tell,"  she 
said.  "My  mother  wedded  against  her  brothers'  will.  My 
father  was  Sam  Lovewell,  a  Sussex  gentleman  of  no  fortune. 
He  was  a  lieutenant  for  the  king,  and  died  of  fever  in  the  camp, 
just  after  Newbury  fight." 

"Why,  then,"  said  Jock,  involuntarily,  "you've  had  the 
same  history  as  Mistress  Mallory." 

Althea  turned  and  gave  him  such  a  look  that  he  wished  he 
had  bit  off  his  tongue  ere  it  uttered  the  last  sentence.  "  Pray, 
when  did  you  have  speech  with  Mistress  Mallory?"  she  ques- 
tioned with  lowered  eyelids. 

Under  this  direct  attack  Jock  was  helpless.  He  did  not 
wish  to  betray  Blanche,  who  at  the  last  had  served  him  under 
a  tacit  truce.  He  did  not  wish  to  lie  to  Althea  who  had  be- 
friended him,  and  even  had  he  been  willing  to  deceive  her,  he 
could  not,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  devise  a  lie  to  fit  the 
complicated  circumstance.  He  reddened,  stammered,  and 
came  at  last  to  a  full  stop,  with  appealing  eyes  on  Althea's 
face. 

She  laughed,  a  slightly  cruel  laugh,  though  he  felt  that  the 
cruelty  was  not  aimed  at  him.  "  I  might  have  known,"  she 
said.    "To  be  sure,  Blanche  has  had  speech  with  you,    She 


EACH  TO  HIS  OWN  93 

can  twist  Lambert  Wogan  round  her  finger,  —  the  more  fool 
he  !  So  she  said  her  father  died  fighting  for  the  king  ?"  Again 
she  laughed.  "Blanche  Mallory's  father,  Mr.  Hetherington, 
was  a  worthy  brewer  at  Bury  St.  Edmund's,  and  he  died  in 
his  bed,  sorely  crippled  with  gout,  four  years  before  the  war 
began.  Next  time  tell  her  that,  with  my  service  to  her. 
Surely,  she  might  do  better  than  to  steal  my  poor,  dead 
daddy!" 

"  I'm  sorry,"  Jock  muttered  with  genuine  penitence,  and 
with  genuine  fervor,  in  his  heart  he  cursed  Blanche  Mallory 
who,  though  absent,  had  thus  contrived  to  break  his  talk  with 
Althea. 

There  was  no  mistaking  Althea's  new  attitude  of  suspicion. 
She  sat  very  erect  upon  the  hearth  and  tugged  at  the  clasp  of 
her  cloak  until  it  hung  by  a  mere  thread.  When  at  last  she 
broke  the  discomfortable  silence,  her  voice  came,  as  it  were, 
from  miles  away.  "It  is  growing  late,"  she  said  pointedly. 
"The  candle  is  near  burned  out.  And  you  have  far  to  travel, 
sir." 

Jock  rose  to  his  feet.  "I'll  go  the  moment  you  bid,"  he 
said,  "but  I  pray  you,  do  not  send  me  hence  in  anger." 

"  I  am  not  angered,"  Althea  replied  with  her  chin  up.  "  I 
am  sorry  for  you,  and  I  think  you  have  been  hardly  used,  and 
I  hope  you  will  escape  my  kinsfolk,  but"  —  she  added  with- 
eringly  —  "I  doubt  if  you  do,  if  you  believe  every  word  that 
everybody  tells  you." 

This  insinuation  of  gullibility  cut  Jock  to  the  heart,  but  he 
saw  no  way  of  exculpating  himself.  "  I  thank  you  for  your 
kind  offices,"  he  said  with  more  dignity  than  he  knew.  "  It 
would  have  gone  ill  with  me,  were  it  not  for  you.  I'm  sorry 
that  we  may  not  part  as  friends." 

He  turned  to  the  door  as  he  spoke,  but  before  he  could  lay 
hand  on  the  latch,  he  found  Althea  at  his  side.  "Wait!" 
she  said,  and  hurt  dignity  and  eager  friendliness  struggled 


94  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

together  in  her  voice.  "Here's  the  bread  and  meat.  You 
must  take  it  with  you." 

On  his  next  throw  he  staked  all.  "  No,"  he  said.  "  I  can- 
not take  it  as  a  charity." 

"What  was  it  at  the  start?"  she  flashed. 

"You  were  not  angered  with  me  then." 

Their  eyes  met,  and  then,  with  sudden  wisdom,  the  girl 
shifted  her  position.  "  You  speak  like  a  child,"  she  said  ma- 
ternally, "  but  I  cannot  suffer  you  go  hungry  these  next  hours. 
Here,  stow  the  bread  and  meat  in  your  pocket.  It  was  not 
you  I  was  angered  at,  and  I  am  not  angered  now." 

"You  broke  off  telling  me,"  he  muttered  defeated,  yet  half 
pleased  at  his  defeat. 

She  laughed,  still  maternally.  "There  was  no  more  story 
to  tell,"  she  explained.  "These  last  years  I  dwelt  with  my 
father's  mother,  who  was  born  a  Holcroft,  at  a  little  village 
in  Sussex.  Winter  before  last  she  died,  and  since  then  I've 
dwelt  at  Graystones.  My  Uncle  Philip  maintained  me  of  his 
charity,  and  warned  me  to  expect  nothing  further  of  him. 
And  I  do  not !"  she  added  fervently. 

Jock  paused  in  his  task  of  wedging  the  food  into  his  pocket. 
"  Holcroft  ?"  said  he.  "  Did  your  grandam  come  out  of  Lan- 
cashire?" 

The  girl  nodded,  "Yes." 

"My  mother  was  a  Lancashire  Holcroft,"  Jock  explained 
eagerly.  "Charlotte  Holcroft,  she  was  called.  We  two  are 
cousins,  mistress." 

"Ay,  verily,"  said  Althea,  "we  be  all  cousins  in  Adam." 

"  Then  you  deny  the  kinship  ?  " 

"It  seems  to  me  somewhat  remote,"  she  answered  with  a 
tantalizing  smile.  "  Now  God  speed  you,  Mr.  Hetherington  I 
We  scarce  shall  meet  again." 

To  his  mind  the  words  came  as  an  echo  of  Blanche  Mallory's, 
"I  pray  Heaven  I  never  set  eyes  on  you  again!"    He  hesi- 


EACH  TO  HIS  OWN  96 

tated,  with  wistful  eyes  on  the  girl  who  of  her  charity  had 
brought  him  food  and  comfort  and  the  cheer  of  human  com- 
panionship in  the  lonely  blackness  where  he  struggled.  He 
hungered  for  words  in  which  to  tell  her,  ere  they  parted  for 
all  time,  just  what  he  thanked  her  for,  but  he  did  not  find  the 
words,  and  as  he  hesitated,  he  realized  that  he  was  making 
the  girl  as  uncomfortable  as  he  was  himself.  He  saw  that  the 
maternal  attitude  that  had  been  her  latest  protection  was  slip- 
ping from  her.  He  noted  the  pathetic  doubt  and  uncertainty 
that  darkened  her  eyes.  Vaguely  he  grasped  the  idea  that 
the  girl  was  afraid,  knowing,  through  his  stupidness,  of  his  col- 
loquies with  Blanche  Mallory,  that  he  might  confuse  her  with 
Blanche. 

At  that  realization  he  drew  back  a  step  from  her.  "  I  thank 
you  for  much,  Mistress  Lovewell,"  he  said.  "God  keep  you 
always!" 

For  the  fraction  of  an  instant  he  hesitated.  Then  it  were 
hard  to  say  which  came  first,  her  slight  advancing  of  the  hand, 
his  slight  movement  forward,  but  in  any  case,  her  hand  lay  in 
his,  and  with  a  gallantry  that  was  almost  foreign  to  him,  he 
bent  his  knee  as  he  kissed  her  hand.  Next  moment  he  had 
flung  the  door  open,  and  without  a  glance  behind  him,  had 
passed  forth  from  the  house  of  Graystones. 


CHAPTER  X 

INTERLUDE  OF  THE   PARSON's   PASTY 

The  household  of  Graystones,  inured  to  thrifty  and  stirring 
habits,  since  Mistress  Difficult  came  from  Clegden  to  take  up 
the  reins  of  government,  was  afoot  by  six  of  the  clock  next 
morning.  Bent  on  the  congenial  task  of  rattling  the  sleepy 
serving  maids  about  their  labor.  Mistress  Difficult  was  first 
belowstairs,  and  scarcely  five  minutes  later  Blanche  Mallory 
and  Althea  Lovewell  were  speeding  in  her  wake. 

Both  girls  had  lain  sleepless  for  hours,  both  dreaded  the  dis- 
covery that  morning  must  bring,  both  doubted  their  own 
power  to  maintain  an  innocent  front,  and  both,  fearing  alike 
to  delay  in  their  chambers  or  to  advance  into  the  open,  had 
at  last,  as  the  less  of  evils,  decided  to  venture  forth.  There 
the  resemblance  between  them  ceased.  Blanche,  with  a  far 
greater  stake  in  the  game  and  a  proportionate  experience  in 
the  playing  of  it,  was  pale  and  pensive,  but  otherwise  of 
a  sweet  and  unruffled  tranquilUty,  while  Althea,  as  transparent 
a  soul  as  ever  dwelt  in  a  girl's  body,  was  nervous  of  gesture 
and  harassed  of  expression. 

So  patent  was  Althea's  distress  that  Blanche,  overtaking 
her  on  the  stair  at  the  back  of  the  house,  was  moved  to  com- 
ment. "You're  white  as  my  smock,"  said  she.  "You  look 
as  if  you  scarce  had  slept  a  wink  this  night." 

"I  have  not,"  said  Althea,  tartly,  and  paused  to  wrestle 
with  the  unruly  lace  of  her  bodice.  "  I  had  a  rending  pain  in 
my  head  that  kept  me  wakeful." 

96 


INTERLUDE  OF  THE  PARSON'S  PASTY  97 

More  she  might  have  been  tempted  to  add  by  way  of  ex- 
planation, had  she  not  caught  at  that  moment  the  rising 
sound  of  hubbub  in  the  kitchen,  in  which  her  Aunt  Diffi- 
cult's  voice  was  plainly  distinguishable.  Instinctively  Althea 
shrank  back,  and  as  she  did  so,  noted  that  Blanche,  on  the 
same  instinct,  had  clapped  her  hand  to  her  heart. 

Emboldened  by  the  other's  weakness,  Althea  laughed  out- 
right. "Come,"  said  she,  "let  us  go  see  what  is  amiss  with 
my  good  aunt  —  unless  you  be  afraid,  Blanche." 

"I?  I  have  naught  to  fear!"  Blanche  cried,  and  thus, 
with  confident  faces  and  quaking  hearts,  the  two  guilty  ones 
passed  down  the  flagged  passage  and  entered  the  kitchen. 

There  it  was  clear  enough  what  had  gone  amiss  —  so  clear 
that  Althea  almost  wished  that  she  had  kept  to  the  seclusion 
of  her  chamber.  The  cupboard  stood  wide,  and  on  the  low- 
est shelf,  exposed  to  the  gaze  of  all  beholders,  stood  the  bones 
of  a  mallard,  the  crust  of  a  quartern  loaf,  and  the  empty  dish 
that  had  contained  a  pasty. 

With  this  sorry  array  for  text  and  five  gaping  maids  for 
audience.  Mistress  Difficult  was  holding  forth  with  volume  and 
power.  "  You  thriftless,  shameless  slug-a-beds !  No  words, 
I  pray  you,  no  words !  Never  were  good  viands  eaten  with- 
out mouths  to  eat  them  —  ay,  and  well  I  know  what  greedy 
mouths  were  these !  Breaking  of  locks,  too  !  'Tis  a  sin  that 
merits  the  bridewell,  I'll  give  ye  to  know !" 

"So  please  you,  good  mistress — "  ventured  the  quaking 
cook  maid. 

"No  words!"  shrilled  Mistress  Difficult.  "Do  I  not  see 
with  mine  own  eyes  that  the  food  is  wasted  and  eaten  —  the 
loaf  and  the  mallard,  yea,  even  the  mutton  pasty  that  I  had 
set  aside  for  mine  own  son,  Jarvis." 

"  And  pray,  good  Sister  Difficult,"  a  small,  sharp  voice  in- 
quired, "wherefore  in  this  house  should  cates  and  dainties  be 
set  aside  for  your  son  rather  than  for  another  ?  " 


98  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

All,  even  Mistress  Difficult,  turned  to  the  doorway,  and 
there  upon  the  threshold  beheld  Mistress  Henrietta  Heyroun. 
By  the  glint  in  her  eye  and  the  set  of  her  little  mouth  she  had 
not  forgotten  the  insult  offered  her  anent  the  spectacles. 

So  unexpected  was  the  attack  that  for  the  moment  Mistress 
Difficult  was  at  a  loss  for  a  fitting  reply.  "  Surely,"  she  stam- 
mered, "  there  is  no  reason  why  my  boy  should  go  fasting  in 
a  house  of  plenty." 

Mistress  Henrietta,  taking  a  leaf  from  her  enemy's  book, 
gave  a  womanly  sniff. 

"  He  rode  yesterafternoon  to  Barbroke.  He  will  return  this 
morn  nigh  famished,  and  why  should  not  his  mother  set  aside 
the  food  he  likes,  he  being  of  a  deUcate  stomach?"  urged 
Mistress  Difficult,  on  the  defensive,  and  then,  seeing  her 
weakness,  shifted  her  ground.  "And  now  they  have  unlocked 
the  cupboard  and  devoured  the  food."  She  turned  upon  the 
serving  maids.  "Yea,  they  have  devastated  all —  the  wast- 
ers that  they  be  1 " 

At  this  point  Mistress  Difficult's  eloquence  was  stemmed 
by  a  sudden  and  unseemly  altercation  among  her  hearers. 
The  cook  maid,  in  despair  of  making  herself  audible,  had 
started  forward  with  something  in  her  hand,  whereupon  the 
little  scullery  wench,  a  friend  to  Althea,  indeed  her  only 
friend  in  all  that  household,  had  flung  herself  upon  the 
woman.  "No!  No!"  she  shrilled  desperately.  "Thou 
shanna  show't!" 

Promptly  the  little  wench  was  cuffed,  and  when  she  had 
fallen  back  blubbering,  the  triumphant  cook  maid  thrust  into 
her  mistress's  face  her  hand  and  what  it  held. 

"What  is  it,  hussy?"  snapped  Mistress  Difficult. 

"A  clasp,  an't  like  you.  I  found  it  lying  by  the  hearth 
this  morning." 

In  a  silence  broken  only  by  the  snuffling  of  the  scullery  wench, 
Mistress  Difficult  took  the  clasp,  and  turned  it  over  and  over, 


INTERLUDE   OF  THE  PAESON'S  PASTY  99 

while  her  face  brightened  slowly.  In  bare  justice  she  took  a 
moment  for  her  scrutiny,  but  for  Althea  one  glance  sufficed. 
She  knew  what  was  coming,  even  before  her  aunt  turned  to 
her  with  the  question:  "You  know  this  clasp,  Althea  Love- 
well?     How  comes  it  here?" 

"It  is  the  clasp  of  my  cloak,"  said  Althea,  simply.  "I 
must  have  dropped  it  here  last  night." 

She  spoke  slowly,  but  while  she  spoke,  her  brain  perforce 
was  working  in  frenzied  haste.  Until  that  moment  she  had 
reasoned  lamely  that,  when  her  aunts  discovered  that  food 
had  been  taken  from  the  cupboard,  they  would  instantly 
pitch  upon  the  fugitive  Jock  as  the  culprit.  Now,  however, 
the  loss  of  the  food  had  been  discovered  before  Jock's  flight 
was  known,  and  moreover,  the  finding  of  her  cloak-clasp,  the 
proof  that  she  herself  had  been  in  the  kitchen,  made  that  ex- 
planation of  the  removal  of  the  food  most  undesirable.  Very 
clearly  Althea  saw  how  her  aunts,  how  the  whole  unfriendly 
household,  would  enjoy  the  scandalous  fact  that  she,  the  ever- 
distrusted  daughter  of  a  Cavalier,  had  erred  at  last,  that  she 
had  been  hobnobbing  in  the  kitchen  at  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  with  the  scapegrace  Hetherington  whose  very  name 
was  anathema. 

In  such  a  dilemma  Althea  took  the  only  possible  course, 
and  resolutely  bracing  herself,  prepared  to  shoulder  the  triple 
guilt  of  the  loaf,  the  mallard,  and  the  parson's  pasty. 
"You  sent  me  to  bed  without  my  supper,"  she  finished  her 
explanation  with  a  scarcely  perceptible  pause.  "  I  was  hun- 
gry so  I  came  belowstairs  and  unlocked  the  cupboard  and  ate 
what  I  could  find." 

Mistress  Difficult  stood  silent,  dumbfounded  by  the  confes- 
sion of  such  enormity,  but  Mistress  Henrietta,  who  had  crossed 
to  the  cupboard  and  scanned  the  silent  witnesses  of  devasta- 
tion, gave  a  horrified  outcry :  "  Be  merciful  to  us  !  The  child 
has  eat  enough  for  ten !    She'll  surely  die  before  our  eyes." 


100  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

"'Tis  the  greediest  trollop  1"  cried  Mistress  Difficult. 

"I  —  I  gave  some  of  the  meat  to  the  cat,"  faltered  Althea. 

"You  did  no  such  thing,"  interrupted  Mistress  Difficult. 
"You  spoiled  and  wasted  all  that  you  could  find,  for  sheer 
spite,  and  my  son's  pasty  in  particular." 

"  And  pray  tell  me.  Sister  Difficult,"  asked  Mistress  Henri- 
etta, "why  had  not  Althea  Lovewell  as  good  a  right  to  the 
pasty  as  your  precious  son  ?  Eat  what  you  will,  Althea,  child. 
I've  as  good  a  share  in  the  ordering  of  this  household  as  has 
my  sister  Difficult.  But  I  should  counsel  you  go  fasting  this 
day  and  henceforth  moderate  your  appetite." 

"She  shall  go  fasting  this  day,  be  sure,"  Mistress  Difficult 
uttered  a  grim  aside. 

Althea  chose  to  hear  no  further.  She  had  gained  a  mo- 
ment's respite,  through  the  fickle  kindness  of  her  Aunt  Henri- 
etta, and  she  gladly  seized  on  the  chance  to  retire  in  good 
order.  "Under  your  favor,  aunt,"  —  she  courtesied  to  Mis- 
tress Henrietta,  —  "  I'll  go  now  to  my  task  and  feed  the  poul- 
try," she  said,  and  so  saying,  turned  to  the  door. 

In  so  doing,  she  passed  close  by  Blanche,  and  she  met 
squarely  the  wise,  amused  look  of  Blanche's  eyes.  "  I  think," 
said  Blanche,  under  cover  of  the  renewed  wrangle  between 
the  two  aunts,  "  I  can  name  him  with  whom  you  shared  yes- 
ternight." 

"Thought  is  free,"  rejoined  Althea,  briefly,  and  with  head 
erect  passed  out  of  the  kitchen. 

As  she  had  announced,  she  set  at  once  about  feeding  the 
poultry,  one  of  the  many  tasks  with  which,  from  morning  till 
night,  she  was  busied  in  paying  for  the  shelter  that  was 
grudgingly  accorded  her  beneath  that  roof.  She  was  wont 
to  finish  this  task  in  a  short  time,  but  to-day  she  was 
long  about  it,  for  she  took  space  in  which  to  reflect  upon  her 
position.  Plainly,  she  reasoned,  Blanche  knew  that  she  had 
been  with   Jock   Hetherington   the   last  night.     Therefore 


INTERLUDE  OF  THE  PARSON'S  PASTY  101 

Blanche  must  know  of  his  escape.  Therefore,  as  logically  as  a 
demonstration  in  Euclid,  Blanche  in  her  turn  must  have  had 
speech  with  him  the  preceding  night.  Althea  realized,  in 
vulgar  parlance,  that  she  and  Blanche  were  in  the  same  boat. 
Neither,  in  safety,  could  bear  tales  of  the  other,  but  an  enor- 
mous advantage  would  accrue  to  the  one  that  first  told  her 
story. 

But  to  that  possibility  Althea  shook  her  head.  All  those 
weeks,  since  the  June  days  when  the  hot-blood  Captain  Heth- 
erington  held  Graystones,  she  had  refrained  from  bearing 
tales  of  Blanche.  She  had  told  no  word  of  the  feet  that  had 
passed  her  chamber  door  in  the  night-time,  no  word  of  the 
alteration  that  with  her  woman's  eyes  she  had  marked  in 
Blanche,  in  those  brief  days  when  Blanche,  swayed  by  the 
first  full-blooded  passion  that  she  had  known,  lowered  her 
guard  of  prudence.  Althea  had  told  no  word,  partly  because 
she  had  a  kind  of  sex-loyalty,  partly  because  she  came  of  a 
race  that  was  averse  to  talebearing. 

With  a  tingle  of  race-pride  Althea  thought  now  of  her 
father,  blundering,  thriftless,  loyal  Sam  Lovewell.  Poor 
daddy!  He  would  not  have  liked  her  to  screen  herself  by 
bearing  tales,  even  of  Blanche  Mallory.  No,  she  must  hold 
her  tongue,  Althea  decided,  and  then  from  the  thought  of 
her  father  her  mind  jumped  to  that  not  dissimilar  blun- 
dering, piteous  soldier-lad,  whom  she,  at  her  own  risk,  had 
furthered.  "  In  any  case,"  said  Althea,  as  she  threw  the  last 
of  the  corn  to  the  busy  hens,  "  whatever  come,  I'm  glad  that 
I  aided  Hetherington." 

With  the  thought  of  the  soldier-folk  she  loved,  she  had  so 
heartened  herself  that  she  decided  to  go  look  at  the  poor  sub- 
stitute she  had  at  hand  in  Wogan's  troopers.  She  made  a 
circuit  through  the  paddock,  partly  to  avoid  the  spying  win- 
dows of  Graystones,  partly  to  linger  yet  a  little  longer  in  the 
sweet  air  and  the  clear  light  of  the  morning,  and  so  came  at 


102  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

length  to  the  great  stables.  There  she  found  six  of  the  troop- 
ers saddUng  up,  with  a  merry  jingle  of  stirrup  irons  and  a  little 
clatter  of  hoofs  and  heavy  boots  upon  the  cobbles  of  the  stable- 
yard. 

Althea  stood  and  surveyed  the  horses  with  a  critical  eye. 
"Where  do  you  ride  this  morning,  Farrat?"  she  asked  pres- 
ently. 

The  trooper  that  she  had  addressed,  a  Heronswood  man  by 
birth,  grinned  and  touched  his  forelock.  "To  Bury,  little 
mistress,"  he  answered.  "We're  to  convey  that  trim  rascal 
Hetherington  thither." 

"Are  you  so,  indeed?"  Althea  queried  innocently.  "I 
hope  I  may  see  you  do  it." 

Then  she  walked  lightly  away,  while  Trooper  Farrat,  who 
was  an  unsuspicious  fellow,  made  some  comment  to  his  mates 
on  the  revengeful  disposition  of  women. 

When  Althea  reached  the  great  hall,  she  found  that  the 
storm,  touching  the  parson's  pasty,  was  well-nigh  overblown. 
The  household  were  about  rising  from  table,  and  the  men  had 
matter  in  hand  more  important  than  a  women's  quarrel. 
"  Lambert,"  said  Inchcome,  who  was  deliberately  finishing  a 
dish  of  eggs  and  collops,  regardless  of  the  visible  impatience 
of  the  said  Lambert  and  of  Martin  Heyroun,  "  an  you  will 
be  stirring,  do  you  go  fetch  Captain  Hetherington.  And, 
good  Mistress  Difficult,  be  in  no  such  haste  to  have  your 
table  voided,  for  Hetherington  has  still  to  break  his  fast." 

At  that  Lambert  Wogan  exclaimed  impatiently,  and 
Martin  Heyroun  saw  fit  to  make  a  vigorous  interposition. 
"  Enough  of  this  folly,  Esdras ! "  he  snarled.  "  That  pestilent 
thief  shall  go  fasting  to  Bury  St.  Edmund's." 

"He  will  not  go  to  Bury  at  all,"  Inchcome  replied  calmly. 
"The  fellow  may  be  a  knave,  but  he  is  not  a  fool.  He  has 
dreamed  whipping-posts  all  night,  and  this  morning  he  will 
yield   up    your   little   deal    box    as    peacefully  as   a  child. 


INTEELUDE  OF  THE  PAKSON'S  PASTY  103 

Go  fetch  him,  Lambert,  and  see  if  I  do  not  speak  the 
truth." 

Wogan  gave  a  grumble  of  dissent,  but  though  he  grumbled, 
went  as  he  was  bidden,  Althea  watched  till  he  had  disap- 
peared down  the  gallery  above,  and  then,  with  a  guilty  terror 
lest  every  one  read  her  secret  in  her  face,  turned  away  to  the 
fire  and  began  to  tidy  the  hearth.  Still,  as  she  worked,  she 
darted  a  glance  at  her  kinsfolk  —  at  her  Aunt  Difficult,  fret- 
ting and  scolding  over  some  household  matter,  at  her  Uncle 
Martin,  muttering  even  yet  of  Inchcome's  folly,  at  her  cousin 
Philip,  the  chestnut-haired,  eating  his  breakfast  with  inscru- 
table face  and  lowered  eyelids.  She  wondered  what  change 
would  be  wrought  in  those  differing  faces  when  Wogan  came 
with  his  news,  and,  keyed  high  with  apprehension,  she  fancied 
each  moment  that  she  heard  Wogan's  step  and  trembled  at 
the  sound. 

But  when  the  reality  came,  Althea  wondered  that  she 
could  have  startled  at  her  own  imaginings.  There  was  no 
mistaking  the  actuality  of  Wogan's  approach.  He  came 
with  an  uproar  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  squadron 
of  dragoons,  clattering  down  the  passage  in  his  heavy  boots, 
clanging  open  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  gallery,  and  leaning 
upon  the  balustrade,  shouted  in  a  voice  that  started  the 
echoes  in  the  vaulted  roof  of  the  hall,  "  He's  gone  —  clean 
gone !" 

For  one  moment  Althea  crouched  upon  the  hearth,  with 
her  arms  tight  crossed  upon  her  breast,  while  she  felt  that 
all  eyes  were  seeking  her.  Then  as  the  clamor  rose  about 
her,  she  turned  fearfully  and  in  the  first  glance  realized  that 
she  was  safe.  It  was  to  Wogan  that  all  looked,  on  his  head 
that  the  confusion  poured.  With  a  swift  change  of  mood, 
Althea  found  herself  a  mischievous  and  amused  spectator. 
To  the  full  she  enjoyed  the  incoherent  wrath  of  her  Uncle 
Martin,  the  bewilderment  of  the  ever-sufficient  Inchcome, 


104  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

the  shrill  dismay  of  her  Aunt  Difficult.  From  them  she 
glanced  at  Blanche  and  Philip.  She  saw  that  Blanche  was 
pale,  though  quite  unmoved,  and  she  saw  that  Philip,  lifting 
his  eyes  for  the  moment,  wore  on  his  face  a  look  of  absolute 
relief. 

Then  she  gave  ear  to  Wogan,  who  was  explaining  at  the 
top  of  his  lungs :  "  He's  gone,  I  tell  you !  How  do  I  know  ? 
The  key  of  his  door  was  in  my  pocket.  I  didn't  let  him 
forth.  He's  gone,  and  he's  left  a  writing  on  the  wall.  He 
thanks  us  for  the  bed,  but  the  board  was  not  to  his  liking. 
'Fore  George,  when  I  lay  hands  on  him,  he'll  sing  another 
song!    ril— " 

"Enough,  enough!"  Inchcome  cut  him  short,  for  he  had 
mastered  his  surprise  and  first  of  them  all  had  himself  in 
hand  again.  "Come,  Martin,"  he  went  on,  "let  us  look 
about  with  our  own  eyes."  So  saying,  he  went  briskly  up 
the  stairs,  and  behind  him  stumped  Martin  Heyroun,  wrath- 
ful and  puffing,  and  behind  him  still  went  the  chestnut-haired 
Philip. 

For  a  moment  Mistress  Difficult  continued  speechless,  then 
she  raised  her  voice.  "'Tis  a  plot!"  she  cried.  "'Tis  a 
snare  for  the  innocent  and  the  defenceless !  You  have  all 
connived  at  his  escape.  You  think  thus  to  rob  my  son  of  his 
lawful  heritage."  At  this  point  the  resolute  gentlewoman 
gathered  up  her  gown,  and  scurrying  nimbly  up  the  stair- 
case, disappeared  down  the  gallery  in  the  wake  of  the  men. 

Mistress  Henrietta  said  something  about  her  poor  head 
and  the  soothing  properties  of  oil  of  lilies,  and  so  saying,  went 
from  the  hall  and  drove  before  her  the  staring  servants  that 
had  crowded  thither.  Althea  and  Blanche,  left  thus  alone, 
eyed  each  other  with  entire  comprehension,  across  the  width 
of  the  great  hall.  Althea  gave  a  laugh  of  sheer  nervousness, 
Blanche  drew  a  tremulous,  long  sigh,  and  then,  unnoticed 
where  he  had  remained  in  the  dark  gallery,  Wogan  stepped 


INTERLUDE  OF  THE  PARSON'S  PASTY  105 

forward  and  came  striding  down  the  stair  into  the  hall. 
He  paid  no  more  heed  to  Althea  than  if  she  had  been  a 
joint-stool,  but  tramping  down  the  hall,  stopped  at  Blanche's 
side. 

"What  do  you  know  of  this?"   he  asked  point-blank. 

"Of  what?"  she  fenced  weakly. 

"Of  the  escape  of  your  one-time  friend.  Captain  Hether- 
ington." 

"A  pretty  question  to  ask  me  !"  she  answered,  and  raised 
her  eyes  to  his  with  piteous  coquetry. 

"You  had  best  throw  fair  with  me,"  said  Wogan,  simply. 
"There's  much  I  can  forgive,  knowing  him  for  a  rogue  and 
you  for  an  innocent  maid." 

Althea,  unnoticed  on  the  hearthstone,  bit  her  lip. 

"  But  you'd  best  be  honest  with  me,"  Wogan  finished. 

"I  have  been  wholly  honest,"  Blanche  answered,  with  a 
shrug  of  her  fine  shoulders.  "  I  spoke  once  with  Hethering- 
ton,  with  your  approbation  and  free  consent  and  for  what 
purpose  you  know." 

Unexpectedly  to  the  one  girl  as  to  the  other,  Wogan  turned 
on  his  heel  and  fronted  Althea.  "Mistress  Mallory  tells  me," 
he  blurted  out,  "that  you.  Mistress  Lovewell,  had  speech 
aforetime  with  Captain  Hetherington — " 

"Lambert!"  cried  Blanche,  and  caught  at  his  arm. 
,  "And,"  pursued  Wogan,  "it  was  to  serve  you  that  she  won 
me  to  connive  at  her  having  speech  with  the  Captain,  night 
before  last.     Now  is  this  story  true?" 

With  interest  and  something  akin  to  amusement,  Althea 
looked,  not  at  Wogan,  but  at  Blanche.  In  that  moment 
she  understood  many  things  over  which  she  had  puzzled  in 
the  last  weeks  at  Grays  tones,  and  she  felt  a  sort  of  admira- 
tion for  Blanche.  Surely,  it  had  been  clever  of  Blanche  to 
assign  to  another  the  part  that  she  herself  had  played  with 
Captain  Hetherington.     Perhaps,  reasoned  Althea,  Blanche 


106  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

deserved  to  have  the  truth  of  those  June  happenings  told, 
and  now  were  a  good  time  to  tell  it. 

At  that  moment  Blanche,  holding  Althea's  eyes,  spoke 
gravely  and  quietly.  "Althea  knows,"  said  she,  "all  that 
I  might  tell,  were  I  to  tell  the  truth," 

On  the  verge  of  revelation,  Althea  paused.  She  knew 
what  Blanche  was  hinting  at,  and  she  did  not  care  to  have 
her  escapade  of  the  preceding  night  made  the  common  prop- 
erty of  her  kinsfolk.  After  all,  what  mattered  these  tales 
that  Blanche  told  of  her?  Captain  Hetherington  was  gone, 
and  his  bedevilled  substitute  was  gone,  presumably  never 
to  return,  and  she  herself  was  in  any  case  suspect  and  outcast 
among  her  kindred.  A  little  more  suspicion  were  easier  to 
bear  than  to  have  the  really  innocent,  but  guilty  seeming, 
facts  of  yesternight  disclosed. 

Althea  gave  a  brief  laugh.  "Thanks  be  to  Heaven,"  said 
she,  "I  am  not  betrothed  to  you,  Captain  Wogan,  nor  am  I 
sib  to  you,  so  I  know  not  by  what  patent  you  now  question 
me." 

"Then  the  story  is  true?"  Wogan  repeated. 

"  If  it  is  not  true,"  said  Althea,  turning  again  to  her  task, 
"  Blanche  has  not  spoke  the  truth,  and  'twere  a  great  pity, 
good  Captain,  that  you  should  be  bewitched  of  a  liar  and  a 
wanton." 

With  her  back  turned,  Althea  could  not  see  their  faces,  but 
she  heard  a  sharp  exclamation  from  Wogan,  a  murmur  from 
Blanche,  and  then  the  little  scene  was  played  out,  for  Inch- 
come,  well  in  the  lead  of  his  straggling  company,  came  briskly 
across  the  gallery  and  descended  to  the  hall. 

"Bestir  yourself,  Lambert,"  Inchcome  bade  sharply. 
"  Send  a  messenger  post-haste  to  Phil,  at  the  village,  and  bid 
him  turn  out  the  rest  of  your  troop.  Scour  the  country 
round.  Make  it  known  that  whoever  brings  Hetherington 
in  alive  shall  have  ten  marks.     Be  ofif  with  you,  and  mean- 


INTEELUDE   OF  THE  PARSON'S  PASTY  107 

time  we'll  have  out  the  grooms  and  the  serving  men  and 
search  round  about  the  house." 

With  such  instructions  Inchcome  despatched  the  Captain 
and  went  about  his  self-appointed  task.  Within  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  all  the  men  had  quitted  Graystones,  and  the  women, 
as  best  they  could,  took  up  the  broken  order  of  the  day. 
Among  the  rest  Althea  went  about  her  tasks,  and  if  she  seemed 
more  distraught  than  her  wont,  her  Aunt  Difficult  ascribed 
the  fact  to  an  uneasy  consciousness  of  sin  discovered,  and  her 
Aunt  Henrietta  to  overindulgence  in  mutton  pasty.  Thus 
the  day  wore  on,  a  day  of  fair  sunlight  and  ripe  odors,  and 
under  the  sweet  autumn  weather  the  house  of  Graystones 
crouched  waiting,  alert,  sensitive  to  every  rumor  that  might 
come. 

About  two  of  the  clock  that  afternoon  Blanche  and  Althea 
went  to  their  daily  task  of  spinning.  Their  wheels  stood  in 
a  long  gallery  at  the  eastern  end  of  the  second  story  of  the 
house.  One  of  the  four  casements  looked  to  the  south  and 
the  sun,  but  the  sunlight  was  tempered  by  the  rustling  leaves 
of  a  great  lime  tree  that  stood  by  the  window  and  cast  a  soft 
cloud  of  shadow  on  the  bare  floor  of  the  gallery.  By  this 
window  stood  Blanche  Mallory's  wheel,  and  not  ten  paces 
distant  stood  Althea's.  Up  and  down  went  the  two  girls, 
to  all  outward  seeming  intent  upon  their  task,  but  in  sober 
truth  intent  each  upon  fathoming  the  other's  thought.  But 
though  in  mind  they  labored  over  the  same  area,  they  inter- 
changed no  word  for  a  full  hour.  A  tense  and  palpable  hos- 
tility enshrouded  them,  and  each  waited,  as  for  an  advantage, 
for  the  other  to  speak  first. 

The  dogged  patience  of  Althea  Lovewell,  granddaughter  of 
a  Lancashire  Holcroft,  at  last  won  the  day.  Of  a  sudden 
Blanche  turned  to  her  companion,  with  a  pretty  gesture  of 
appeal  that  she  seldom  wasted  on  a  fellow-woman.  "  Althea," 
she  pleaded,  "why  are  you  cruel  to  me?" 


108  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Althea  raised  her  brows. 

"You  are  young,"  sighed  Blanche. 

"Tis  no  vice,"  quoth  Althea. 

"I  am  four  and  twenty,"  Blanche  answered.  She  paused, 
and  clasping  her  hands  upon  the  rim  of  her  great  wheel,  rested 
her  chin  upon  them.  "  I  wonder,  child,  if  I  can  give  you  to 
understand." 

"I  doubt,"  said  Althea.     "I  am  not  a  man." 

Blanche  returned  to  her  first  assertion.  "  You  are  cruel  to 
me.  What  words  were  those  you  spoke  of  me  to  Lambert 
Wogan?" 

"  The  truth,"  said  Althea,  and  her  eyes  did  not  waver  from 
the  other's  face.  "You  are  a  liar.  You  lied  about  Hether- 
ington's  identity.  You  lied  when  you  spoke  with  Hether- 
ington,  claiming  for  your  father  my  dead  father's  services. 
You  lied  when  you  told  to  Wogan,  to  all  in  this  house,  what 
it  seems  you  have  told  of  me.  And  you  are  a  wanton.  Do 
not  think,  because  I  choose  to  be  silent,  that  I  am  a  child  or 
a  fool.     I  saw  —  what  I  have  seen." 

For  a  moment  they  faced  each  other  across  their  silent 
wheels,  and  Blanche's  face  grew  haggard.  She  had  made 
the  mistake,  the  common  and  fatal  mistake,  of  underesti- 
mating her  own  sex.  For  the  first  time  she  realized  all  that 
Althea  knew,  and  that  Althea  knew  she  knew,  and  the  vast 
potency  for  harm  that  lay  in  that  slip  of  a  girl  with  the  mop 
of  hair  and  the  direct  eyes. 

On  sudden  impulse  Blanche  stepped  round  her  wheel  and 
went  straight  to  Althea.  She  spoke  more  simply,  perhaps 
more  honestly,  than  she  had  spoken  in  long  months.  "  I  am 
fain  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  twisting  her  hands  together.  "I 
am  not  so  evil  as  you  believe.  It  is  only  —  oh,  I  am  not 
like  you,  Althea.  I  am  hungry  for  all  that  women  love  — 
for  brave  gowns,  and  jewels,  and  the  kindness  and  comfort 
of  friends,  and  an  honorable  place  in  the  world,  the  world 


INTERLUDE  OF  THE  PARSON'S  PASTY  109 

outside  Graystones,  where  men  and  women  move  and  deeds 
are  done.  What  sin  is  there  in  me  to  desire  this  that  so  many 
women  have  and  take  unthankful?  And  why  should  I  not 
have  what  others  have  ?  I  come  of  gentle  blood,  I  am  not  a 
fool,  I  am  not  uncomely." 

"No,"  said  Althea,  honestly.  "You  are  very  fair  to  look 
on,  Blanche." 

The  older  girl  smiled,  for  all  that  her  face  the  moment 
before  had  been  haggard  and  earnest.  "You  truly  think 
so?"  she  asked,  and  emboldened  by  that  praise,  laid  her 
hand  on  Althea's  arm.  "  Then  can  you  blame  me  ?  Do  you 
realize  how  life  has  gone  with  me?  My  father  died  bank- 
rupt, and  I,  a  maid  of  fourteen,  came  here  to  Graystones  to 
live  on  my  aunt's  charity.  I  might  as  well  have  come  to  a 
tomb.  I  have  withered  here,  I  have  starved  here.  I  sewed 
my  aunt's  endless  seams,  and  I  cooked  her  pottage,  and 
brewed  her  drink,  and  listened  to  her  sermons,  the  while  the 
years  passed  and  passed  and  my  beauty  was  passing  with 
them,  and  out  there,  so  far,  was  the  great  world  where  I 
might  not  venture.  And  you  despise  me,  you  child,  because 
I  have  sought  the  one  way  out  —  because  I  used  my  only 
portion,  my  beauty,  to  entice  a  husband.  Do  other  maids 
do  less  with  their  lands  and  their  great  dowries?  You  are 
not  just  to  me,  Althea.  I  should  be  so  good  a  wife,  so  obe- 
dient, so  loving,  so  grateful  to  the  man  who  would  take  me 
hence !" 

"  I  wonder !"  said  Althea,  and  her  eyes  said  more  than  her 
lips. 

"  Yes,"  Blanche  answered  the  unspoken  comment.  "  There 
have  been  divers  men  —  no  doubt  there  had  been  more,  if 
more  had  come  to  Graystones.  There  was  Philip  Heyroun, 
but  his  sour-visaged  mother  looked  well  to  the  marring  of 
that,  and  there  was  Lieutenant  Phil,  but  that  cold  brother 
of  his  was  too  keen  for  me,  and  there  was  Lambert  always, 


110  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

and  he  is  the  best  of  them  all.  I  —  I  do  love  him,  Althea." 
The  last  sentence  rang  false,  for  all  that  she  uttered  it  with 
downcast  eyes. 

"There  was  also  Captain  Hetherington,"  said  Althea, 
unmoved. 

This  time  Blanche  faced  her  squarely  and  drew  a  long 
breath  ere  she  spoke,  then,  "  He  is  the  one  I  loved,"  she  said 
simply.  "  He  was  —  unlike  the  rest.  I  know  not  if  he  had 
any  fortune.  I  care  not.  I  would  have  gone  away  with  him, 
had  he  asked  me.  I — "  The  girl's  eyes  filled,  brimmed 
over  with  tears  that  were  not  all  artifice.  "Well,  he  has 
gone,"  she  said  with  a  tremulous  smile,  "  and  I  am  returned 
to  —  my  old  disgraceful  trade,  you  call  it,  Althea  ?  Lam- 
bert cares  for  me.  He  has  money  and  land  of  his  own,  there 
at  Barbroke,  and  a  name  that  is  held  in  honor  in  the  country- 
side. He  will  take  me  away  from  this  hateful  place.  Oh, 
Althea ! "  she  sobbed  in  good  earnest.  "  You  will  not  rob 
me  of  this  only  chance?  I  can  move  Lambert  as  I  list. 
He  cares  for  me.  In  a  little  time  I  can  bring  him  to  make 
me  his  wife  —  if  only  you  will  not  tell  him  what  you 
know!" 

Althea  stood  quiet.  With  knitted  brows  she  looked  at 
Blanche,  who  sobbed  softly  with  her  beauteous  head  bent 
upon  her  hands,  and  from  Blanche  she  looked  to  the  rustling 
leaves  of  the  lime  tree  beyond  the  casement.  She  noted  the 
little  rifts  of  sunlight  that  filtered  through  the  thick  green  of 
the  branches.  "  In  short,"  she  said  abruptly,  "  you  wish  me 
still  to  let  Lambert  Wogan  and  the  others  think  that  'twas 
I  that  loved  Captain  Hetherington." 

Blanche  nodded,  uplifting  her  eager,  tear-marked  face. 
"Only  to  be  silent,  that  is  all  I  ask,"  she  pleaded.  "And, 
Althea,  when  once  I  am  married  to  Lambert,  I  will  stand  your 
friend.  You  shall  come  dwell  with  me,  dear,  and  I  will  find 
you  a  husband." 


INTEKLUDE  OF  THE  PARSON'S  PASTY  111 

"I  thank  you,  but  I  would  not  have  you  pain  yourself," 
Althea  retorted. 

"I  understand."  Blanche  accepted  the  rebuke  with  meek- 
ness. "I  know  that  you  scarce  need  my  offices.  You  can 
marry  Jarvis  Heyroun  whenever  you  choose  to  say  the  word." 

" Marry  Parson  Jarvis ? "  blazed  Althea.  "I'd  die  a  thou- 
sand deaths  first,  for  sure  I'd  die  ten  thousand  afterward!" 

Blanche  looked  at  her,  delicately  puzzled.  "He  is  his 
mother's  whiteboy,"  she  hinted.  "  In  time  she  would  forgive 
you.     And  he  — " 

Althea  laughed,  and  set  her  wheel  in  motion  with  a  swift 
turn  of  the  hand.  "  'Tis  of  no  use,  Blanche,"  she  said.  "  We 
see  all  with  a  difference.  Perchance,  seeing  so  differently,  I 
have  judged  you  overharshly." 

"  'Tis  only  that  you  are  young,"  murmured  Blanche. 

Althea  laughed  again.  "Marry  Lambert,  an  you  think 
him  worth  the  trouble,"  she  said.  "I've  no  mind  to  mar 
your  market.  Marry  him,  and  to  accomplish  your  end,  tell 
as  few  untruths  of  me  as  may  be.  I  shall  still  be  silent.  In 
any  case,  you've  done  me  no  such  wrong  with  your  false  tales 
as  you  did  to  Hetherington." 

"Captain — "  began  Blanche. 

"No,"  Althea  cut  her  short,  "the  boy  that  escaped  last 
night." 

"That  you  helped  to  escape,"  said  Blanche. 

"You  having  already  helped  him,"  said  Althea. 

They  looked  at  each  other,  and  then  in  their  own  despite, 
smiled.  "At  least,"  urged  Blanche,  returning  to  her  wheel, 
"you  must  admit  I  repaired  the  wrong  I  did  to  the  young 
man.  And  the  temptation  —  think  but  on  that,  Althea ! 
The  Captain,  had  they  found  him — " 

"  He  might  have  borne  tales  to  Wogan,  of  what  truly  hap- 
pened in  those  days  in  June,"  Althea  filled  out  the  pause. 

After  a  moment  Blanche  tacitly  accepted  the  interpolation. 


112  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

"This  boy  could  not  bear  tales,  even  an  he  would.  I  was 
almost  safe,  while  they  thought  that  he  was  the  Captain.  I 
am  wholly  safe  now  that  he  has  fled,  and  none  may  discover 
the  truth  as  to  his  identity  and  seek  to  find  and  question  the 
right  Captain." 

For  a  little  time  the  two  wheels  whirred  in  busy  company, 
then  Althea,  after  grave  pondering,  questioned :  "  Your  part 
is  clear  unto  me,  but,  Blanche,  can  you  guess  why  Philip 
Heyroun  also  should  swear  falsely  to  that  boy's  identity?" 

"How  can  I?"  Blanche  asked.  " Who  knows  Philip  Hey- 
roun's  mind?"  With  returned  courage  she  met  Althea's 
eyes. 

Althea  asked  no  more,  but  to  herself  she  said:  "You  are 
not  telling  the  truth.  I  believe  that  Philip  is  silent,  touching 
you  and  the  Captain,  at  the  price  of  your  silence  as  to  — 
what?"  All  she  said  aloud,  however,  was:  "'Tis  lucky  on 
all  hands  that  this  same  Hetherington  has  slipped  away, 
but,"  she  added,  in  the  spirit  of  mischief^  "how  if  he  be 
retaken,  Blanche?" 

"Heaven  forbid!"  Blanche  was  startled  into  fervency. 
"  'Twould  undo  all.  Oh,  but  that  will  not  be.  The  fellow 
is  shrewd  for  his  years." 

Th^re  Blanche  paused,  with  eyes  on  Althea,  for  Althea  had 
sauntered  to  the  eastern  casement  that  looked  down  upon  the 
stable-court,  and  gazing  forth,  she  had  grown  pale. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Blanche,  pressing  to  her  side. 

"It  was  Jarvis,"  said  Althea.  "I  saw  him  fling  off  his 
horse  and  come  toward  the  house.  There  is  news.  Oh, 
Blanche !    If  it  be  ill  news !" 

For  an  instant,  forgetting  their  mutual  distrust,  the  two 
girls  clutched  each  other.  They  knew  that  Jarvis  must  have 
returned  from  Barbroke,  which  lay  to  the  north  of  Herons- 
wood,  and  they  knew  that  Jock  Hetherington's  flight  would 
be  northward. 


INTERLUDE  OF  THE  PARSON'S  PASTY  113 

The  older  girl  was  first  to  master  herself.  "  Come  !  "  she 
said.  "  We  must  learn  what  has  befallen  that  we  may  know 
what  is  next  to  do." 

"  I'm  —  frightened,"  gulped  Althea. 

"Nonsense!"  said  Blanche.  "We  know  nothing,  remem- 
ber! We  are  two  innocent  maids,  impelled  by  a  worthy 
curiosity.     Come!" 

She  caught  Althea's  hand  in  hers,  and  so,  side  by  side,  they 
hurried  toward  the  great  hall.  When  they  set  foot  in  the 
gallery,  they  realized  that  tidings  must  indeed  have  come. 
Mistress  Henrietta,  Mistress  Difficult,  and  a  distant  fringe  of 
eager  serving  wenches  held  the  centre  of  the  hall,  and,  a 
breathless  newsmonger,  in  their  midst  stood  Jarvis,  all  flushed 
and  dusty. 

"What  news?  What  news?"  cried  Blanche,  stopping 
halfway  down  the  stairs.  Her  voice  rang  shrill  and  high,  and 
the  color  was  bright  in  her  cheeks.     "  Have  they  taken  him  ?  " 

"Ay,  that  they  have !"  shouted  Jarvis. 

Althea,  standing  on  the  step  above  Blanche,  heard  her 
gasp,  "My  heart!"  and  felt  the  warm  pressure  of  the  girl's 
shoulders  swaying  back  against  her.  She  stiffened  herself, 
and  throwing  one  arm  about  Blanche,  listened  to  Jarvis's 
eager  details. 

"  That  is,"  Jarvis  ran  on,  "  they'll  have  taken  him  by  now. 
They've  run  him  to  earth  in  the  loft  of  a  disused  cottage,  just 
this  side  of  Barbroke.  They'll  have  him  out,  or  burn  the 
cottage  about  his  ears.    Trust  Lambert  for  that !" 

"Oh!"  moaned  Blanche,  so  low  that  only  Althea  heard. 
"What  will  become  of  me?" 

"Of  you?"  said  Althea,  in  a  bitter  whisper.  "What  will 
become  of  him?" 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE   UNDER   DOG 


From  the  hour  of  his  quitting  Graystones  Jock  found  that 
his  fortunes  hinged,  most  unheroically,  on  the  fit  of  his  boots. 
As  long  since  was  told,  he  had  acquired  them  shortly  after 
the  fall  of  Colchester,  by  a  forced  exchange  in  which  he  had 
been  the  weaker  party.  They  were  old,  they  were  worn, 
and,  worse  still,  the  trooper  to  whom  they  had  belonged 
had  had  the  bad  habit  of  treading  on  the  outer  edge  of  the 
foot,  while  Jock,  for  his  part,  was  accustomed  to  walk  level. 
As  long  as  Jock  had  stayed  at  St.  Andrew's  where  the  space 
for  exercise  was  limited,  he  had  scarcely  noted  the  difference, 
but  when  once  he  had  started  on  his  long  tramp  to  freedom 
he  realized  it  with  a  vengeance.  *^  * 

At  first,  being,  in  the  exhilaration  of  his  new-won  liberty, 
in  the  mood  to  be  amused  at  anything,  he  was  amused  at  the 
perverseness  of  his  slantwise  footgear.  By  the  end  of  the  sec- 
ond mile  he  was  angry,  and  by  the  end  of  the  third,  when, 
thanks  to  his  insecure  footing,  he  just  missed  an  ugly  fall,  he 
was  downright  alarmed.  He  knew  that  his  safety  now  de- 
pended solely  on  his  marching  power,  and  that  power  was  in 
direct  ratio  to  the  comfort  and  support  that  he  could  get  from 
his  boots. 

With  the  coming  of  daylight  Jock's  difficulties  increased. 
He  was  travelling  north  by  west,  bearing  away  from  the  sea, 
and  he  found  that,  following  this  course,  he  was  about  to 
walk  squarely  into  a  village.     Round  this  danger  spot  he 

lU 


THE  UNDER  DOG  116 

made  a  circuit,  but  even  so  he  had  to  pass  through  a  country 
of  cultivated  fields  and  unexpected  lanes  and  byways,  —  a 
country,  too,  where  husbandmen  were  going  about  their  labors. 
He  no  longer  dared  walk  boldly,  as  he  had  done  in  the  night- 
time, but  lost  precious  moments  in  skulking  along  in  the  shel- 
ter of  hedges  or  of  copses,  and  even  so,  he  more  than  once 
narrowly  avoided  an  encounter  with  chance  wayfarers. 

Still,  all  this  was  so  much  a  part  of  the  game  of  being  a 
fugitive  that  Jock  could  have  kept  up  his  courage,  had  he  only 
been  able  to  walk  at  his  proper  pace,  but  each  hour  he  found 
himself  lagging  more  and  more.  Not  only  was  he  hampered 
and  retarded  by  his  miserable  boots,  but  he  grew  painfully 
aware  that  one  good  meal  was  not  enough  to  wipe  out  the 
effect  of  weeks  of  half  rations,  topped  by  two  days  of  actual 
starving.  Already,  though  he  had  come  so  few  miles,  he  was 
wearied  well-nigh  to  the  point  of  exhaustion.  He  ceased  to 
say,  "When  I  escape,"  and  instead  used  the  phrase,  "If 
I  escape,"  and  the  moods  that  went  with  the  two  phrases 
differed  even  more  widely  than  the  phrases  themselves. 

Partly  because  he  wished  to  save  steps,  partly  because  he 
felt,  in  his  discouragement,  that  all  precautions  were  futile, 
Jock  began  soon  to  take  desperate  chances.  He  cut  across 
open  fields,  he  passed  within  a  stone's  cast  of  stray  cottages, 
and  he  even  tramped  for  a  few  rods  at  a  time  along  the  unfre- 
quented highway,  where  he  found  the  walking  easier.  Through 
such  foolhardiness  he  came,  inevitably  and  deservedly,  by  his 
undoing.  About  eleven  of  the  clock  in  the  morning,  as  he  was 
trudging  along  the  highroad  some  fourteen  miles  north  of  Gray- 
stones,  he  reached  a  spot  where  on  the  right  hand  was  a  thick 
hedge,  and  on  the  left  a  steep  bank,  sloping  to  a  little  brook. 
It  were  a  bad  place  in  which  to  be  caught,  he  reflected,  and  so 
thinking,  rounded  a  sharp  turn  and  came  face  to  face  with 
two  country  fellows. 

"  Yon's  our  man  1"  cried  the  foremost  of  the  two,  and  next 


116  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

moment  Jock  found  himself  in  the  thick  of  a  bout  at  fisti- 
cuffs. 

He  knocked  one  man  down,  and  then  he  felt  himself  seized 
by  the  neck  of  his  doublet.  With  sudden  thanksgiving  that 
the  doublet  was  too  big  for  him,  he  twisted  out  of  it,  and 
leaving  it  in  the  hands  of  his  would-be  captor,  took  to 
his  heels.  To  break  through  the  hedge  was  impossible;  to 
jump  down  the  bank,  in  those  unsteady  boots,  meant  to  fall 
and  be  captured.  Of  necessity  he  stuck  to  the  road.  He 
heard  behind  him  the  shouts  of  his  pursuers,  but  they  seemed 
not  to  gain  upon  him.  For  an  instant  he  had  a  hope  that  the 
impossible  might  happen,  and,  tired  though  he  was,  that  he 
might  still  outrun  them.  Then  from  before  him  he  heard  an 
answering  shout.  He  lifted  his  head,  and  there  in  the  road- 
way, not  five  rods  from  him,  were  two  mounted  troopers,  and 
one  of  them  was  Lieutenant  Phil  Heyroun. 

If  it  had  been  another  than  a  Heyroun,  Jock  might  perhaps 
have  done  the  reasonable  thing,  and  seeing  that  the  whole 
countryside  was  roused  and  that  he  was  taken  between  two 
fires,  might  have  surrendered  himself  with  what  grace  was  at 
his  command.  But  when  he  saw  Phil  Heyroun,  grinning  at 
the  prospect  of  his  ignominious  capture,  Jock  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  was  not  to  be  captured.  For  an  appreciable 
second  he  halted  short,  glancing  desperately  from  the  bank  to 
the  hedge.  Then  he  had  spied  what  he  prayed  for  —  a  thin 
spot  in  the  hedge  —  and  putting  his  head  down,  he  charged 
into  it. 

By  the  favor  of  fortune  he  broke  through.  Before  him  he 
saw  a  little  knoll  on  which  stood  a  deserted  cottage,  with 
crumbling  thatch  and  shutterless  windows  and  a  door  that 
sagged  wide.  He  breasted  the  knoll,  crashing  through  the 
briars  and  weeds  of  the  neglected  house-yard.  Beyond  the 
knoll  stretched  a  great  expanse  of  broken  land,  with  clumps 
of  trees  and  a  distant  wood  that  gave  promise  of  shelter,  but 


THE  UNDER  DOG  117 

already  Phil  Heyroun  and  his  trooper  were  swinging  in  on  their 
horses  to  cut  him  off  from  that  haven,  and  behind  him  the 
countrymen  were  breaking  through  the  hedge.  With  a  wild 
notion  that  within  the  cottage  he  should  at  least  have  a  wall 
against  which  to  set  his  back  in  the  final  struggle,  Jock 
wheeled  and  stumbled  panting  into  the  deserted  house. 

In  the  sudden  change  from  sunlight  to  semidarkness  he  saw 
no  more  of  the  one  room  than  a  fireplace,  yawning  opposite 
him,  a  closed  door  beside  it,  and  to  the  right  a  ramshackle 
ladder  that  led  through  an  opening  to  the  loft  above.  For 
Jock  it  was  now  a  case  of  any  port  in  storm.  Breakneck  he 
dashed  across  the  quaking  floor  and  hurled  himself  upon  the 
ladder.  He  heard  a  round  crack  beneath  his  foot,  but  in  that 
moment  he  caught  at  the  edge  of  the  loft  and  heaved  himself 
upward  into  the  heat  and  darkness.  Struggling  to  his  feet, 
he  seized  the  uppermost  rounds  of  the  ladder,  and  contrived 
to  drag  it  after  him  into  the  loft,  just  as  he  heard  his  pursuers 
tramp  into  the  room  below. 

The  vanishing  foot  of  the  ladder  gave  a  clew  to  Jock's 
whereabouts  that  would  have  been  sufficient  to  the  dullest 
mind.     "Come  down!"   shouted  Phil  Heyroun. 

"Come  up!"  panted  Jock,  and  wasted  no  time  in  further 
speech.  Working  as  he  had  never  worked  in  a  life  that  had 
not  been  idle,  he  tugged  and  wrenched  till  he  had  torn  the 
broken  round  from  the  ladder.  By  this  means  he  was  fur- 
nished with  a  cudgel  some  eighteen  inches  long  and  almost  as 
thick  as  his  wrist,  as  ugly  a  short  range  weapon  as  heart 
could  desire.     With  this  in  hand,  he  waited  and  drew  breath. 

To  all  appearance  the  besiegers  had  taken  counsel  and  now 
were  ready  for  action.  Jock  heard  Phil's  voice  say  encour- 
agingly, "He's  not  armed,  I  tell  you!"  and  next  moment 
saw  the  head  of  the  trooper  appear  at  the  opening. 

Jock  struck  at  the  head  with  all  the  force  of  his  cudgel  and 
two  arms  behind  it.    The  trooper,  being  a  man  of  discrimi- 


118  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

nation,  sacrificed  his  arm  to  save  his  skull,  and  taking  thus 
the  force  of  the  blow,  toppled  off  the  shoulders  of  the  coun- 
trymen who  supported  him  and  landed  sprawling  on  the  floor. 
"Ben't  he  armed,  though!"  Jock  heard  him  say  ruefully. 

Lieutenant  Phil  seemed  to  be  convinced  by  this  demonstra- 
tion. He  halted  beneath  the  opening  and  set  forth  his  opin- 
ion of  Jock  and  his  intentions  as  to  his  future,  but  he  made 
no  further  effort  to  scale  the  loft.  In  conclusion,  growing 
cooler,  he  ostentatiously  bade  his  followers  go  bring  assistance, 
and  saying  that  one  man  were  enough  to  keep  watch,  marched 
noisily  away.  A  moment  later  Jock  heard  the  sound  of  re- 
ceding horse-hoofs  and  felt  the  great  silence  that  settled  on 
the  cottage.  Being  of  a  perverse  and  evil  temper,  he  grinned 
and  wondered  if  Lieutenant  Phil  really  thought  to  catch  him 
with  such  chaff. 

Now  that  he  had  a  little  time  at  his  disposal,  Jock  strength- 
ened his  position  by  stretching  the  ladder  across  the  opening. 
The  strong  rounds  made  still  narrower  the  straitened  space 
through  which  a  man  must  pass.  That  way,  at  least,  he  had 
made  his  place  of  refuge  impregnable,  but  he  was  wofully 
ignorant  of  what  might  threaten  him  from  other  quarters,  for 
there  were  no  windows  in  the  loft,  nor  so  much  as  a  rift  in 
the  thatch  through  which  he  might  overlook  the  enemy's 
movements.  Worse  still,  he  dared  not  explore  the  loft  to 
learn  its  advantages  and  disadvantages  as  a  fortress,  for  he 
discovered  that  the  flooring  was  old  and  treacherous  —  so 
treacherous  that,  on  the  one  occasion  when  he  ventured  a 
little  distance  from  the  opening,  he  just  missed  crashing 
through  into  the  room  below.  Of  necessity  he  settled  him- 
self again  at  his  sentinel  duty,  and  having  the  virtue  of  pa- 
tience, ate  the  last  of  his  bread  and  meat  while  he  waited 
for  what  should  come  next. 

The  cottage  faced  to  the  west,  and  the  sunlight,  striking 
through  the  windows,  slipped  presently  along  the  floor  and 


THE  UNDER  DOG  119 

gave  Jock  a  rough  notion  of  the  time.  It  was  about  two 
o'clock,  he  judged,  when  Lieutenant  Phil  gave  over  the  fond 
hope  of  beguiling  him  from  his  place  of  vantage  and  tramped 
into  the  cottage,  and  from  that  time  on  people  kept  coming, 
and  none  went  away.  Round  the  beleaguered  house  Jock 
heard  the  stir  of  many  folk,  the  buzz  of  men's  voices,  the 
shouting  of  lads,  the  stamp  of  horses,  and  now  and  again, 
in  the  room  below,  he  heard  footsteps,  as  some  newcomer 
of  greater  place  and  authority  strode  in  to  speak  with  the 
Lieutenant. 

From  the  scraps  of  talk  that  floated  to  the  loft  Jock  decided 
that  he  had  not  done  wisely  in  seeking  cover  at  that  particular 
spot.  As  nearly  as  he  could  discover,  the  village  of  Barbroke, 
on  the  outskirts  of  which  the  cottage  stood,  was  peopled 
exclusively  by  the  Wogans  and  their  relations  by  marriage, 
the  Cookes.  Thanks  to  this  kinship  with  Captain  Wogan, 
the  whole  countryside  was  rallying  to  help  him  recover  his 
prisoner.  This  was  bad,  but  presently  Jock  found  that  bad 
could  be  worse.  From  the  rising  murmur  of  the  crowd,  and 
the  outspoken  threats  of  the  men  in  the  room  below,  he  learned 
that  his  cousin,  the  Captain,  had  ridden  a-foraying  once  in 
these  parts  and  that  his  memory  still  was  green  among  the 
country  folk.  To  put  the  matter  mildly.  Captain  Hethering- 
ton  was  not  a  favorite  at  Barbroke,  and  it  was  Captain  Hether- 
ington  that  Jock  had  now  the  questionable  honor  to  represent. 

As  he  listened  to  the  voices  that  rose,  more  and  more  storm- 
ily,  round  his  place  of  refuge,  Jock  told  himself,  with  a  streak 
of  prudence,  that  his  wisest  course  would  be  to  surrender  to 
Captain  Wogan  the  instant  that  the  soldiery  came  up.  It 
were  better  to  endure  the  military  brutalism  of  the  captain, 
than  to  suffer  the  manhandling  of  the  angry  crowd,  he  rea- 
soned, but  when  at  length  he  heard  outside  the  heavy  tramp 
of  horses  and  the  brisk  jingle  of  sound  that  meant  the  dis- 
mounting of  cavalry,  he  sent  reason  to  the  right-about.     He 


120  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

would  surrender  to  no  man,  and  least  of  all  to  Lambert  Wogan, 
who  had  twice  mishandled  him.  As  long  as  life  was  in  him, 
he  would  fight  against  recapture,  and  having  decided  in  this 
wise  what  he  was  to  do  next,  he  was  ready,  with  no  harass- 
ment of  doubt  or  self-question,  to  do  it. 

Jock  had  no  long  time  to  nurse  his  belligerent  intent.  Not 
five  minutes  after  the  troopers  had  dismounted  in  the  house- 
yard.  Captain  Wogan  himself  strode  masterfully  into  the 
space  beneath  the  opening.  " Hetherington,  you  runagate!" 
he  ordered.     "Come  down,  else  we'll  fetch  you  down!" 

Jock  laughed.  "Your  lieutenant  said  that  afore,"  he  re- 
torted. "My  good  Lambert,  repetitions  are  wearisome  and 
ofttimes  unadvisable." 

This  tactful  quotation  from  Inchcome  had  the  desired 
effect  of  infuriating  Captain  Wogan  beyond  the  point  of 
prudence.  Better  than  Jock's  expectation,  he  called  to  his 
troopers  to  give  him  a  shoulder  up,  and  with  a  foolhardy 
courage  that  deserved  —  and  won !  —  applause  from  his 
kinsmen  and  neighbors,  attempted  to  scramble  into  the  loft^ 

For  the  second  time  that  day  Jock  uttered  a  pious  thanks- 
giving, and  as  he  saw  Wogan's  head  come  through  the  open- 
ing, brought  down  his  cudgel  upon  it.  He  saw  the  blood 
gush  over  Wogan's  forehead,  but  Wogan  still  clung  pluckily 
to  the  edge  of  the  loft.  Jock  struck  a  second  blow,  and  at 
that  Wogan  swayed,  let  go  his  hold,  and  so  dropped  limply 
down  into  the  arms  of  his  men. 

In  the  next  few  moments  Jock  had  indeed  to  make  his 
hands  keep  his  head.  Irregularly,  tumultuously,  Wogan's 
troopers,  reenforced  and  thereby  much  hindered  by  Wogan's 
kinsmen,  tried  thrice  to  carry  the  loft  by  assault.  There 
was  an  uproar  of  shouts  and  threats,  a  wild  shot  or  two,  a 
scrambling  and  jostling  of  men,  but  Jock,  although  deafened 
with  confusion  and  half  stifled  with  smoke,  still  had  eyes  to 
see  and  a  single  purpose  to  cling  to.     Whenever  he  saw  a 


THE  UNDER  DOG  121 

head  appear  at  the  opening,  he  battered  it  with  his  cudgel, 
and  before  he  was  exhausted,  Lieutenant  Phil  had  given  the 
order  for  the  sorely  mauled  assailants  to  draw  off. 

There  followed  for  Jock  a  half  hour  of  tense  and  painful 
apprehension,  during  which  he  knelt  by  the  opening,  alert 
for  the  first  movement  of  surprise.  He  listened  to  the  mur- 
mur of  the  crowd  and  the  stamp  of  horses  outside  of  the  house, 
while  he  strained  his  ears  to  catch  the  first  sound  of  a  foot- 
step in  the  room  below.  At  last  he  heard  a  step  indeed,  and 
without  surprise  saw  Wogan  once  more  standing  in  his  old 
place. 

Wogan  was  hatless,  and  about  his  forehead  he  had  twisted 
a  handkerchief  that  was  flecked  with  red.  He  was  white  to 
the  lips,  and  he  spoke  less  blusteringly  than  before,  but  in  a 
far  more  deadly  tone.  "  If  you  are  not  down  ere  I  count  ten," 
he  said,  "I'll  burn  the  house  about  your  ears." 

Again  Jock  laughed,  baring  his  teeth.  "Burn  an  you 
will!"  he  scoffed.  "And  then  you  can  whistle  for  your 
plaguy  little  deal  box !  " 

Unerringly  Jock  had  hit  upon  the  weak  point  in  any  plan 
for  his  dislodgement.  Lieutenant  Phil,  a  possible  beneficiary 
under  the  missing  wills,  came  at  once  to  Wogan's  side. 
"  That  won't  do,  sir,  that  won't  do  at  all,"  he  protested.  "  Say 
we  try  gunpowder?" 

"Do  you  want  to  blow  him  to  hell?"  rejoined  Wogan. 
"No,  no  I  Curb  yourself  a  little  longer,  Phil.  I  know  how 
to  fetch  him  down." 

Without  further  words  or  threats,  the  two  men  tramped 
out  of  the  house,  and  this  omission  made  Jock  far  more 
uneasy  than  anything  that  they  could  have  said.  As  the 
moments  passed  and  his  blood  cooled,  he  began  to  wonder 
if  after  all  he  had  behaved  as  cleverly  as  he  had  thought.  In 
the  closely  invested  cottage,  with  the  mutter  of  the  crowd 
always  in  his  ears,  he  found  it  hard  to  keep  up  his  courage. 


122  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

He  realized  that  he  was  tired,  and  half  suffocated  with  the 
heat  of  the  close  loft,  and,  thanks  to  the  food  that  he  had 
eaten,  faint  and  almost  sick.  Overborne  by  this  faintness, 
he  sank  down  by  the  opening  which  he  must  guard,  and  in 
such  posture  watched  the  sunlight,  the  only  moving  thing 
in  the  cottage,  creep  farther  and  farther  along  the  floor. 

Incredible  though  it  sounds,  he  must  have  dozed  by 
snatches.  In  any  case,  while  he  was  telling  himself  fever- 
ishly that  the  afternoon  would  never  end  and  he  cared  not 
how  it  ended,  so  the  end  came  speedily,  he  opened  his  eyes 
with  a  start,  and  saw  that  the  room  below,  no  longer  sun- 
lit, was  dim  with  coming  twilight.  In  the  same  moment  — 
the  sound  that  must  have  roused  him  —  he  heard  a  clatter 
of  horses  hard  at  hand  and  a  noise  of  cheering.  Alert  once 
more,  he  rose  to  his  knees,  and  as  he  made  the  movement, 
clapped  his  hand  to  his  suddenly  dazzled  eyes.  Below,  he 
had  caught  a  glimpse  of  red  light,  streaking  the  dusk,  and  he 
could  smell  the  acrid  smoke  of  torches. 

"Heave  the  light  higher!"  came  Wogan's  voice.  "Look 
to't  that  he  does  not  slip  through.  Now  then!  Tightly, 
lads!    All  with  a  will!" 

Above  him  Jock  heard  a  sound  of  creaking  and  rending. 
Upon  his  head  and  face  he  felt  a  rain  of  dust  and  splinters, 
and  again  he  heard  the  rending,  tearing  noise,  and  upon  it  a 
shout  of  furious  exultation.  Brushing  the  litter  from  his 
face,  he  looked  up,  and  above  his  head  he  looked  through  a 
gaping  hole  straight  into  the  evening  sky. 

He  understood  now.  Wogan  had  sent  for  poles  and  hooks 
and  was  unroofing  the  house  above  his  head.  It  was  clever 
of  Wogan.  If  he  had  stood  in  Wogan's  place,  he  would  have 
been  proud  of  the  device. 

So  far  Jock  reasoned  impersonally,  and  then,  with  a  sudden, 
choked  cry,  he  realized  that  this  was  no  impersonal  happen- 
ing.   It  was  he  that  they  were  hunting.    It  was  he  that  was 


THE  UNDER  DOG  123 

at  bay,  trapped,  soon  to  be  dragged  out  by  that  exultant  mob. 
He  sprang  to  his  feet,  just  as  another  section  of  thatch  went 
hurthng  into  the  yard  below.  "You  scurvy  cowards!"  he 
raged,  and  in  the  tumult  of  crashing  roof  and  shouting  men, 
might  as  well  have  raised  his  voice  against  a  hurricane. 

On  the  mere  instinct  of  a  hunted  animal  he  shrank  away 
from  the  unroofed  space  by  the  opening,  back  into  the  shel- 
tering darkness  of  the  loft.  As  he  retreated  he  felt  the  rotten 
flooring  sway  beneath  his  feet.  He  halted  on  the  safe  foot- 
ing that  a  cross  beam  afforded,  and  looked  about  him.  All 
round  were  cracks  and  chinks  in  the  boards  through  which  he 
could  see  the  play  of  red  torchlight  in  the  room  beneath,  but 
at  his  left  hand  he  spied  a  little  space  that  was  dark.  He 
dropped  to  his  knees  and  groped  about  the  spot.  Yes,  the 
floor  was  broken  here.  He  tore  away  a  couple  of  loose  boards, 
and  still  the  space  beneath  was  black.  It  might  prove  a 
place  of  refuge;  it  might  prove  a  hideous  living  grave.  At 
that  moment  a  third  section  of  the  roof  went  down.  Jock 
had  a  nightmare  glimpse  of  the  house-yard,  where  the  lurid 
torchlight  played  on  the  upturned  faces  of  men,  mad  with 
the  lust  of  the  hunt.  At  that  sight  he  swung  his  legs  over 
the  edge  and  dropped  recklessly  into  the  black  pit  beneath. 

For  one  second  he  felt  a  support  under  his  feet,  and  then, 
with  a  crash  that  was  drowned  in  the  louder  crash  of  the  un- 
roofing, he  heard  the  support  give  way,  and  he  fell  again. 
This  time  he  must  have  lain  for  a  moment  half  stunned. 
When  he  opened  his  eyes  he  saw  a  flicker  of  red  light  on  a  rude 
wall  beside  him,  and  he  realized  what  had  happened.  From 
the  loft  he  had  dropped  into  a  dark  closet,  and  from  the  closet, 
the  floor  of  which  had  broken  under  his  weight,  he  had  fallen 
into  a  cellar. 

So  far,  good,  Jock  reflected,  and  shaken  though  he  found 
himself,  was  rising  from  the  pile  of  rubbish  where  he  lay, 
when  he  heard  in  the  yard  above  an  ominous  shout:  "Fire  I" 


124  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

and  next  moment  the  voice  of  Phil  Heyroun :  "  Help  hither ! 
Briskly !    One  of  these  pestilence  fools  has  fired  the  house  ! " 

Then  above  in  the  yard  Jock  heard  a  sound  of  running 
and  shouting,  and  for  one  hideous  second  he  heard  his  own 
voice,  high-keyed  with  terror,  shouting  too.  Small  blame 
to  him,  if  for  that  instant  he  could  realize  only  that  he  was 
caught  in  the  cellar  like  a  rat  in  a  trap,  while  over  his  head 
the  tinder-box  of  a  cottage  was  burning.  Of  that  last  horror 
he  had  no  doubt,  for  he  could  see  the  fire  redden  through  the 
chinks  of  the  floor  above  him  and  the  red  reflections  waver 
across  the  cellar.  Like  a  trapped  rat  indeed,  he  ranged  fran- 
tically up  and  down  the  narrow  space,  but  soon,  as  he  recov- 
ered his  self-control,  he  ranged  to  some  purpose.  There  must 
be  a  way  out,  he  reasoned,  and  if  he  would  not  perish  miser- 
ably, he  must  find  that  way. 

In  that  moment  of  regained  self-mastery  Jock  saw,  by  the 
flickering  light,  a  ruinous  door  set  in  the  wall  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  cellar.  He  flung  himself  upon  it,  thrusting  his 
shoulder  against  the  stubborn  wood,  wrenching  at  the  lock 
with  frenzied  hands.  He  felt  the  hot  wind  from  a  bit  of 
wood  that  fell  blazing  from  the  floor  above  and  barely  missed 
his  head.  With  the  hot  blast  still  upon  his  face,  he  threw 
his  last  strength  into  one  final  effort  that  heaved  the  rotten 
door  from  its  hinges. 

Beyond  the  door  he  saw  yawning  what  seemed  a  passage- 
way, and  headlong  he  pressed  into  it.  He  felt  that  the  ground 
was  uneven  beneath  his  feet.  Again  and  again  he  stumbled  as 
he  went  forward,  and  to  save  himself  groped  his  hands  along 
the  rough  wall,  but  soon,  unless  it  were  his  fancy,  he  began 
to  see  the  way  before  him,  dimly  at  first,  and  then  with 
greater  clearness.  He  raised  his  face,  and  felt  a  branch  of 
growing  leaves  brush  against  his  cheek. 

Behind  the  bush  that  screened  him  he  paused,  and  slowly 
blinking  the  dust  and  darkness  from  his  eyes,  looked  about  him. 


THE  UNDER  DOG  126 

He  stood  in  the  mouth  of  a  short  passageway,  half  hidden  by 
hazel  and  alder  bushes,  that  opened  into  a  narrow  gully.  On 
either  side  fell  away  the  knoll  on  which  the  cottage  stood,  and 
the  glare  of  the  blazing  structure  reddened  the  quiet  sky  and 
the  fields.  So  far  the  fire  had  not  seized  on  the  eastern  side 
of  the  building  where  the  passage  lay,  but  the  western  front 
must  be  blazing  fiercely.  He  could  hear  the  shouts  of  the 
men  who  were  fighting  the  flames,  but  he  saw  not  a 
single  straggler.  He  realized  then  that  in  the  excitement  of 
quenching  the  blaze  his  persecutors  had  broken  their  cordon 
and  left  the  eastern  side  of  the  house  to  all  purposes  unguarded. 
Here  was  his  way  of  escape.  The  fire  that  had  promised  to 
be  his  ruin  was  instead  his  salvation. 

Bending  low,  Jock  scurried  down  the  little  gully,  keeping 
well  to  the  shadow  of  the  alders.  Once  and  again  he  started, 
as  he  heard  a  stone  clatter  beneath  his  foot,  but  up  on 
the  knoll  they  were  making  too  much  noise  to  heed  so 
slight  a  sound.  Unmarked,  he  reached  the  safe  shadows  of  the 
fields  beyond  the  farthest  range  of  the  firelight.  He  remem- 
bered the  wood  that  he  had  noted  earlier  in  the  day,  and  head- 
ing thither,  walked  at  his  best  speed.  Even  so,  he  went  but 
slowly.  By  the  time  that  he  had  gained  the  outlying  trees, 
the  roof  of  the  blazing  cottage  had  fallen. 

For  a  moment  Jock  gazed  at  the  red  glow  on  the  knoll,  a 
half  mile  distant,  and  then  he  withdrew  his  eyes  to  the  sky, 
where  beyond  the  feathery  lines  of  the  elm-branches  the 
stars  were  pricking  through.  Upon  his  sweaty  forehead  he 
felt  the  stirring  of  the  night  wind  and  the  coolness  of  the 
dew  that  fell  with  the  fall  of  twilight.  Of  a  sudden  he 
dropped  down  in  the  shelter  of  the  trees,  with  his  face  pressed 
into  the  moss  that  was  cool  and  wet,  and  lying  thus,  realized, 
to  his  own  amazement,  that  he  was  almost  sobbing  with 
passionate  thanksgiving  for  the  release  that  at  the  eleventh 
hour  had  been  granted  him. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  GUEST  UNLOCKED  FOR 

Not  four  and  twenty  hours  later  Jock  Hetherington,  who 
had  been  born  north  of  the  Humber  and  hence  looked  to  gain 
his  pennyworth  at  every  bargain,  was  begrudging  his  mood  of 
tearful  thanksgiving  as  wrung  from  him  under  false  pretences. 
He  was  free,  yes ;  but  freedom  with  the  drawbacks  of  an  empty 
stomach  and  knees  that  knocked  together  with  weariness  was 
not  all  that  blithe  fancy  had  painted  it.  Moreover,  he  was 
not  likely  to  enjoy  even  such  poor  freedom  for  any  long  time. 
Only  too  sensibly  was  he  aware  that  he  had  upon  his  trail 
the  entire  southern  half  of  the  county,  and  leading  them  on 
was  Captain  Wogan,  who  by  now,  what  with  his  broken  head 
and  his  public  bafflement,  must  be  in  a  sweet  temper. 

"  I  misdoubt  but  I  was  overhasty  to  batter  Wogan,"  Jock 
reflected  with  the  futile  prudence  of  afterthought. 

He  was  sitting,  as  he  made  this  reflection,  on  the  ivy-grown 
trunk  of  a  fallen  oak,  in  the  depth  of  a  tangled  hollow,  some 
eight  miles  distant  from  the  point  where  he  had  entered  the 
wood.  Round  him  the  steep  sides  of  the  hollow  reared  them- 
selves, close-grown  with  beeches  and  young  oaks  that  shut 
out  the  sky  and  let  no  more  than  a  glint  of  the  western  sun- 
light slip  between  their  lowest  branches.  To  all  appearance, 
he  had  chosen  a  safe  hiding-place,  but  he  had  not  spent  the 
day  in  acquainting  himself  with  the  wood  to  be  deceived  by 
mere  appearance.  He  was  well  aware  that  this  unworthy 
forest  was  not  more  than  three  leagues  in  length  and  at  its 

126 


A  GUEST  UNLOOKED  FOR  127 

widest  scarce  a  league  in  breadth,  and  beyond  its  outermost 
verge  was  fair  open  country  with  barley  fields,  where  mowers 
swung  their  scythes,  and  open  heath  where  maids  kept  cows, 
and  little  obtrusive  hamlets  and  farmsteads  that  thrust  them- 
selves into  the  very  shadow  of  the  trees.  Up  and  down  this 
sweet  open  country,  on  all  hands,  as  his  eyes  had  been  witness, 
mounted  men  and  footmen  were  scouring,  and  he  guessed 
only  too  shrewdly  what  quarry  it  was  that  they  sought. 

"If  I  venture  forth  of  the  wood,"  reasoned  Jock,  dispas- 
sionately, "even  with  the  night  to  cover  me,  I  am  like  to  be 
instantly  captured.  If  I  sit  here,  I  shall  presently  starve  with 
hunger.  What's  to  do?"  Unable  to  answer  his  own  ques- 
tion, he  puckered  his  lips  and  fell  to  whistling  soundlessly. 

In  the  midst  of  his  whistling  he  came  by  an  answer  that  he 
had  neither  expected  nor  desired.  At  a  distance  among  the 
trees,  but  each  moment  nearer,  he  caught  the  sound  of  slow- 
pacing  horse-hoofs,  and  he  had  barely  time  to  drop  behind 
the  tree  trunk  on  which  he  had  been  sitting,  when  there  rang 
from  the  slope  above  him  a  loud  halloo.  For  a  tense  moment 
he  believed  himself  discovered,  and  then,  at  a  farther  distance 
in  the  wood,  he  heard  an  answering  hail,  and  breathed  again. 

Very  cautiously  he  raised  his  head,  and  peering  through  the 
leaves  that  masked  his  hiding-place,  saw  on  the  western  ridge 
of  the  hollow,  not  twenty  paces  from  him,  a  mounted  trooper, 
halted  and  waiting.  For  all  the  low-growing  branches  and 
the  shifting  leaves  of  the  beech  trees  that  intervened,  he 
could  make  out  the  steel  cap  that  gleamed  on  the  man's  head 
and  the  well-curried  dark  flank  of  the  horse.  He  saw  the 
steel  cap  shift,  the  dark  flank  quiver  restlessly,  and  warned 
by  such  signs,  looked  more  nearly,  and  saw  through  the  in- 
terstices of  the  leaves  bits  of  a  brown  smock  frock  and  an 
unkempt  head  of  sun-bleached  hair.  Even  before  he  caught 
a  spoken  word,  he  guessed  that  a  hind,  summoned  by  the 
trooper's  shout,  had  come  to  his  stirrup. 


128  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Said  the  man  in  the  saddle :  "  How  far  is't,  fellow,  to  Dray- 
cote  farm?  I'm  fair  mazed  in  your  wood."  His  voice 
reached  Jock,  clear  and  distinct  upon  the  quiet  air  of  sunset. 

"Less  nor  a  mile,  an't  like  yOu,"  the  hind  made  answer. 
"  'Tis  the  red-roofed  house,  yonder  at  the  edge  of  the  wood. 
Fecks,  I  can  lead  ye  thither,  an  ye  will.  I  serve  Mr.  Hey- 
roun  that  is  master  of  Draycote." 

"  'Tis  for  him  I  bear  a  message,"  replied  the  trooper.  "  He'll 
have  guests  this  night." 

At  last  the  hind,  so  seeming  stupid,  was  charmed  to  inter- 
est.    "  Tell  me,  master,"  he  begged,  "  have  ye  taken  that  slip- 
per rogue  Hetherington  ?    Cuds  me !   but  I  had  good  hope 
myself  to  earn  ten  marks  by  taking  him  alive." 

The  trooper  laughed,  throwing  back  his  head  in  the  steel 
cap.  "Those  ten  marks  will  fall  to  the  lads  in  buff  coats," 
he  said.  "  Look  you  not  thither,  cudden.  We  have  sent  unto 
Graystones  for  leamers,  and  we  have  Hetherington's  cast 
doublet  that  he,  of  his  civility,  left  in  our  hands.  We'll  run 
the  murderous  thief  to  ground  like  a  badger." 

So  saying,  the  trooper  swung  his  horse  about,  and  for  an 
instant  Jock  was  in  fear  lest  he  ride  down  the  slope  over  the 
very  spot  where  he  was  lying.  For  his  escape  from  this  peril 
he  had  to  thank  the  unconscious  hind  who,  crying  out  that 
the  way  was  easier  along  the  top  of  the  ridge,  struck  into  a 
path  that  bore  away  from  the  hollow.  Alter  him  went  the 
trooper,  and  left  a  wake  of  wavering  boughs  that  his  passage 
had  displaced,  and  an  echo  of  boasting  as  to  the  speed  with 
which  he  and  his  mates  would  run  to  earth  the  fugitive  Heth- 
erington. 

When  the  wood  became  silent  again  and  the  shaken  leaves 
hung  motionless,  Jock  sat  up  behind  the  sheltering  tree  trunk. 
He  did  not  whistle  now,  not  even  to  keep  up  his  courage. 
White-lipped  and  clench-fisted  he  sat  silent  while  he  pondered 
the  knowledge  that  he  had  won.    So  they  were  promising 


A  GUEST  UNLOCKED  FOR  129 

ten  marks  for  his  recapture,  a  noble  sum,  a  sum  that  would 
keep  every  man  in  the  hundred  from  his  bed  that  night,  alert, 
watchful,  a  sum  that  would  outweigh  any  lingering  scruple  of 
compassion  in  the  hearts  of  the  thrifty  country  folk.  To  that, 
they  meant  to  track  him  with  dogs. 

"The  cowards!"  Jock  raged,  much  as,  the  evening  before, 
he  had  raged  with  the  sense  of  his  own  helplessness  and  of 
Wogan's  insolent  strength  at  the  moment  when  the  roof  was 
torn  from  above  his  head,  and  then,  in  the  thick  of  the  mad- 
ness that  began  to  turn  the  world  red  before  his  eyes,  he  be- 
thought him  of  the  words  that  the  hind  first  had  uttered,  of 
Draycote  and  of  Heyroun. 

Suddenly,  linking  one  phrase  to  the  other,  Jock  recalled 
Althea  Lovewell's  account  of  her  dark  kinsman,  Rafe  Hey- 
roun, who  dwelt  at  Draycote  farm.  Next  moment,  almost 
without  reflection,  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  headed  down  the 
hollow,  eastward,  in  the  direction  that  the  trooper  and  the 
hind  had  taken.  Whichever  way  he  turned  he  was  sure  of 
capture,  —  he  faced,  with  wonted  hard-headedness,  his  im- 
mediate need,  —  and  better  far  to  yield  himself  a  prisoner  to 
Rafe  Heyroun  than  to  the  brutal  peasantry  or  to  Wogan  and 
his  troopers.  He  saw  a  chance,  albeit  a  slender  one,  that  he 
might  win  some  measure  of  protection  from  Rafe,  who  on 
that  night  at  Graystones  alone  had  seemed  capable  of  pity, 
and  if  this  poor  hope  was  frustrate,  at  least  he  should  have 
the  comfort  —  and  in  his  own  wretchedness  it  was  a  com- 
fort !  —  of  making  a  fellow-being  wretched.  He  had  it  in 
mind  to  convince  Rafe  Heyroun  that  it  was  not  so  easy  as 
he  had  dreamed  to  stifle  his  doubt,  for  laziness  or  for  a  family 
scruple,  and  wash  his  hands  of  the  man  whose  identity  he 
had  himself  once  called  in  question. 

At  the  thought  of  the  coming  encounter  with  Rafe  Hey- 
roun, Jock  smiled,  not  altogether  pleasantly,  and  strode  for- 
ward at  a  brisker  pace.    Under  dim  trees  that  grew  farther 


130  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES  / 

and  farther  apart  he  trudged  until,  between  the  trunks,  he 
had  a  gUmpse  of  open  spaces  where  the  waning  light  fell 
stronger,  and  at  last  gained  the  edge  of  the  dwindled  wood, 
Before  him,  a  sight  that  already  he  once  had  viewed  that  day, 
he  saw  the  long,  gracious  slope  of  barley  fields  and  dusky- 
meadows  that  stretched  away  to  the  twilight  east,  where  rose 
the  roofs  and  the  church  tower  of  a  hamlet,  and  close  at  hand, 
not  forty  rods  upon  his  right,  he  made  out,  nested  among  low 
hillocks,  the  red  roofs  of  a  farmhouse,  with  a  huddle  of 
thatched  outbuildings  and  walled  orchards  that  jostled  one 
another  forth  into  the  fields.  i 

That  must  be  Draycote  farm,  Jock  decided,  mindful  of 
the  hind's  description,  and  warily  he  set  himself  to  cross  the 
fields  that  lay  between  him  and  his  chosen  haven.  As  he 
went,  he  marked  that  the  light  grew  paler  and  that  the  sun- 
shine, that  had  glowed  like  fire  on  the  uppermost  windows  of 
the  farmhouse,  faded  and  died.  In  the  sombreness  of  the 
first  twilight  he  reached  the  wall  of  the  farthest  orchard,  and 
along  it  he  scouted  till  he  came  to  a  green  door  that,  as  an 
omen  of  good  luck,  so  he  was  pleased  to  read  the  sign,  stood 
a  little  ajar.  Through  this  door  he  entered  the  dusky  orchard, 
and  under  the  deep  shadow  of  the  pear  and  bullace  trees  drew 
toward  the  dim  pile  of  the  farm  buildings.  On  the  hushed 
evening  air  he  could  hear  now  the  lowing  of  cattle  and,  once 
and  again,  the  harshly  raised  voices  of  men,  at  their  tasks  in 
the  stable-court. 

At  the  sound  Jock  halted,  safe  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees, 
and  told  himself  that  this  was  the  moment  when  he  should 
reflect  soberly  and  decide  whether  it  were  better  to  go  forward 
or,  since  he  still  was  undiscovered,  to  slip  back  and  run  his 
chances  in  the  wood.  Dutifully  he  waited  for  several  min- 
utes, but  instead  of  weighing  his  arguments,  pro  and  con,  as 
he  should,  he  found  himself  staring  upon  a  spray  of  climbing 
rose  that  showed  above  the  western  wall  and  studying,  with 


A  GUEST  UNLOCKED  FOR  131 

entire  interest,  the  little  wind-shaken  movement  that  it  made 
against  the  saffron  sky. 

Vexed  at  his  childishness  to  pause,  as  of  duty,  when  he 
knew  that  already,  come  weal,  come  woe,  his  decision  was 
taken,  he  plunged  forward  again,  and  soon,  in  his  headlong 
march,  found  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  rick-yard.  Across 
this  danger  spot  he  contrived  to  steal  unobserved,  though  he 
passed  some  breathless  moments  behind  a  rick  of  straw, 
while  he  listened  to  a  stable-lad  chaffing  a  belated  dairy  wench. 
When  the  two  fools,  as  he  termed  them,  were  gone  at  last,  he 
went  forward  in  the  thickening  dark,  crossed  the  stableyard, 
and  approached  the  house,  where  lights  were  beginning  to 
gleam  in  the  latticed  windows. 

With  a  half-humorous  sense  of  the  strangeness  of  his  posi- 
tion, he  was  wondering  what  he  should  do  under  the  circum- 
stances, whether  he  should  knock  at  the  house-door  civilly, 
or  stride  in  forthright,  or  lurk  hidden  in  the  shadows  to  see  if, 
by  happy  chance,  Rafe  Heyroun  himself  might  stray  in  his 
direction,  when  in  an  instant  all  his  doubts  were  resolved. 
Right  upon  him,  as  it  seemed,  in  the  dim  lane  that  ended  at 
the  stable-court,  he  heard  the  tread  of  horses  and  then  a  voice 
that  he  would  have  known  among  a  thousand,  Captain  Wo- 
gan's  voice,  shouting  to  his  men  to  halt  and  in  the  same 
breath  calling  irritably  for  a  light. 

All  in  an  instant  Jock  comprehended  the  trooper's  speech 
that  he  had  overheard  in  the  wood,  touching  the  guests  that 
were  to  be  looked  for  that  night  at  Draycote.  He  realized 
but  too  well  that  Wogan  and  his  men,  wearied  and  ill-tem- 
pered with  searching  for  him,  had  sought  the  very  shelter  that 
he,  in  his  folly,  had  sought,  and  in  that  realization  he  went 
out  of  the  stable-court,  with  the  simple  purpose  of  getting 
as  far  away  from  Wogan  as  kind  fate  would  suffer  him. 

As  usual,  fate  was  not  fighting  on  Jock's  side.  Out  of  the 
stable-court  was  into  a  little  space  of  garden,  bounded  on  the 


132  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

left  by  a  tall  hedge  of  quickset,  and  on  the  right  and  straight 
ahead  by  the  walls  of  the  farmhouse  itself,  a  veritable  blind 
alley,  as  Jock  realized  with  dismay.  Behind  him  he  heard  the 
stamp  of  horses  right  at  his  heels,  and  looking  across  his  shoul- 
der, he  saw  a  flare  of  light  broaden  in  the  stable-court,  where 
the  farm  servants  were  hastening  to  bring  torches.  In  a 
moment  the  bare  little  garden  where  he  stood  would  be  in  a 
bath  of  light,  and  Wogan  would  be  upon  him. 

At  that  pass  of  desperation  Jock  made  out  in  the  wall  of 
the  farmhouse  above  him  a  casement  that  opened  on  the 
blackness  of  a  room  within.  Once  again  it  was  for  him  out  of 
the  frying-pan,  even  at  the  imminent  risk  of  the  fire.  Making 
a  wild  spring,  he  caught  at  the  sill  with  his  upflung  hands, 
found  foothold  in  the  plastered  wall,  and  heaved  himself  over 
the  window-ledge  into  the  room,  just  as  the  glare  of  the  torch- 
light blazed  across  the  little  garden  that  he  had  quitted. 

Stretched  upon  the  floor,  where  he  lay  breathless  and  shaken 
with  his  frantic  scramble,  Jock  watched  the  light  waver  across 
the  room,  a  long,  low  parlor,  sparsely  windowed  and  hung  in 
the  fashion  of  an  earlier  generation  with  faded  arras.  Hard 
by  him  stood  an  oak  table  with  heavy  carven  feet,  and  catch- 
ing a  gleam  of  light  reflected  back  from  the  dimness,  he  looked 
more  closely  and  saw  that  the  table  was  laid  for  supper  with 
dishes  and  tankards  of  polished  pewter.  With  a  dawning 
suspicion  he  sat  up,  and  at  that  moment  heard  a  step  with- 
out and  spied  a  crack  of  light  in  the  opposite  wall  that 
betrayed  the  whereabouts  of  a  door. 

"Mind  the  flagon,  Bess,  thou  ungain  hussy!"  spoke  a 
woman's  voice  upon  the  very  threshold,  and  from  his  heart 
Jock  gave  thanks  to  the  unknown  Bess  and  her  ungainness, 
for  while  the  mistress  paused  to  rail  upon  the  wench,  he  had 
time  to  seek  shelter. 

Of  a  truth,  he  needed  little  time,  for  he  had  no  trouble- 
some decisions  to  make.    He  could  not  well  leave  by  the  win- 


A  GUEST  UNLOCKED  FOR  133 

dow,  for  that  meant  to  risk  himself  in  the  lighted  garden,  in 
full  view  of  the  stable-court  where  Wogan's  men  were  dis- 
mounting. Accordingly,  he  stayed  where  he  was,  and  as  he 
saw  no  sign  of  other  hiding-place,  bestowed  himself  behind 
the  arras.  He  found  the  space  narrow  and  he  reflected  that 
he  had  once  more,  even  as  on  the  night  when  he  crawled 
through  the  window  of  the  roof  room,  to  thank  the  days  of 
semistarvation  that  had  fitted  him  for  packing  into  tight 
corners. 

Wedged  between  the  wall  and  the  arras,  Jock  listened  to 
the  go  and  come  of  women's  feet  and  the  rattle  of  dishes.  He 
was  conscious  of  a  glow  of  light  that  made  him  blink  and  he 
wondered  whence  it  came,  till  presently  he  realized  that  he 
had  taken  his  stand  at  a  spot  where  the  arras  at  the  level  of 
his  face  was  worn  thin.  He  was  able,  then,  to  take  a  some- 
what blurred  survey  of  the  room,  and  he  discovered  first,  to 
his  joy,  that,  choosing  blindly,  he  had  chosen  his  hiding- 
place  well.  He  was  ensconced  in  a  corner  behind  a  high- 
backed  chair,  the  thick  shadow  of  which  fell  upon  the  arras 
even  to  the  height  of  his  shoulder.  Reassured  as  to  his 
present  safety,  he  gazed  about  him,  at  the  low  ceiling,  crossed 
with  heavy  beams,  at  the  dark  floor  that  caught  the  reflection 
of  the  light,  at  the  table  set  forth  for  supper,  where  candles 
now  were  shining,  and  at  the  women  who  were  setting  the 
meat  upon  the  board.  The  one  was,  by  every  sign,  a  mere 
unhandy  serving  wench ;  the  other  was  a  tall,  comely  matron, 
mistress  of  the  house,  by  the  keys  at  her  girdle,  and  by  that 
token,  Rafe  Heyroun's  wife,  and  Lambert  Wogan's  sister. 

Of  the  truth  of  this  identification  Jock  was  speedily  as- 
sured. In  the  hall  without  he  heard  a  clatter  of  heavy  steps 
and  a  clank  of  spurs,  and  then,  up  the  short  flight  of  stairs 
that  he  could  see  ascended  from  the  hall,  came  Captain  Wogan, 
bandaged  of  head  and  stiff  of  gait,  and  at  his  heels,  dark, 
taciturn  as  ever,  came  Rafe  Heyroun,     By   the  subduQ<i 


134  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

sounds  in  the  hall,  Wogan's  hungry  troopers  were  set  at  sup- 
per there,  while  Wogan  was  himself  retired  to  the  greater 
seclusion  of  the  farmhouse  parlor.  He  sat  down  at  the 
table,  and  Rafe  sat  opposite  him,  and  Mistress  Heyroun  sat 
between  them  with  her  back  toward  Jock,  and  in  such  pos- 
ture they  made  their  supper,  a  very  good  supper  of  a  breast 
of  mutton  stewed  with  parsnips,  and  white  puddings,  and 
nettle  cheese,  and  ale. 

Hungrily  and  enviously  Jock  checked  off  each  item,  while 
with  his  finger-tips  he  beat  a  soundless  tattoo  upon  the  wall 
against  which  he  leaned.  From  his  heart  he  wondered  if,  had 
Wogan  done  all  of  set  purpose,  he  could  have  succeeded  in 
making  him  more  miserable  than  he  was  at  that  moment. 
What  with  the  smell  of  the  food,  after  his  long  fast,  and  the 
dread  of  his  coming  interview  with  Rafe  that,  in  this  forced 
inactivity,  gained  upon  him,  he  felt  a  mortal  terror  lest 
again,  as  he  had  done  two  nights  before  in  the  Graystones 
kitchen,  he  should  disgrace  himself  by  fainting.  Indeed, 
for  moments  on  end  he  lost  the  voices  of  the  three  at 
table,  and  was  conscious  only  of  the  ebbing  within  him 
of  the  strength  that  with  all  his  soul  he  struggled  to  call 
back. 

It  was  after  one  such  lapse  that  Jock  grew  tinglingly  aware 
of  Wogan's  speech :  "  Well,  we  didn't  burn  Hetherington  liv- 
ing, whatever  story  your  hinds  brought  you,  Rafe.  You 
can't  burn  a  man,  body  and  bones  and  buttons  and  all,  you'll 
bear  me  witness,  and  we  searched  through  the  ashes  of  that 
hut  and  found  no  trace  of — " 

"Nay,  Lambert!"  protested  Mistress  Heyroun,  weakly, 
and  from  that  point  ceased  eating. 

"But  we  did  find  an  outlet  whereby  he  could  well  have 
escaped  from  the  cellar,"  Wogan  continued.  "So  we  did  not 
burn  him,  but  I  tell  you,  Rafe,  that  when  I  get  my  hands  on 
him,  he'll  wish  that  we  had  1    I've  a  score  of  mine  own  now 


A  GUEST  UNLOOKED  FOR  136 

to  settle  with  the  rascal.  Two  thumping  licks  in  the  head 
he  dealt  me  and — " 

"  And  what  else  did  you  look  for  the  fellow  to  do  when  you 
thrust  your  foolish  head  into  the  loft?"  Rafe  Heyroun  asked 
with  a  note  of  amusement  in  his  tone  that  did  not  square 
with  Jock's  preconceived  idea  of  a  Puritan.  "Sure,  you 
did  not  look  for  him  to  embrace  you  like  a  brother  and  fall 
a-weeping  on  your  neck?" 

Thereupon  Wogan  thrust  back  his  stool  and  rose  from 
table,  with  an  inarticulate  growl,  like  a  sore-headed  bear, 
and  Mistress  Heyroun  cried,  "Fie  upon  you,  Rafe,  to  make 
a  jest  of  that  red-hand  villain's  misdeeds,  he  that  has  well- 
nigh  slain  our  brother  Lambert!" 

This  statement  of  fact  seemed  not  overpleasing  to  Captain 
Wogan,  for  he  wheeled  and  glared  upon  his  sister.  "Noth- 
ing of  the  sort,  Bel!"  he  said  stiffly.  "'Twill  take  a  taller 
fellow  than  that  empty  swingebuckler  to  do  me  damage. 
Give  you  good  night !  I  must  be  stirring  early  on  the 
morrow." 

With  such  curt  speech  Wogan  left  the  room,  and  at  his  de- 
parture Jock  drew  his  first  long  breath  in  an  hour.  Almost 
he  was  minded  to  step  forth  at  once  while  Rafe  was  amused 
and  hence  in  the  mood  to  be  tolerant,  but  he  lingered,  half 
because  he  dreaded  to  put  his  last  hope  to  the  test,  half  be- 
cause he  feared  to  face  Rafe's  wife,  who  loved  her  damaged 
brother.  So  for  moment  after  moment  he  delayed,  while 
Isabel  Heyroun  rose  from  her  place  and  closed  the  casement 
that  still  stood  wide  to  the  night  wind,  and  snuffed  a  candle 
that  was  guttering.  Then  she  stepped  to  her  husband's  side 
and  lit  the  pipe  that  meantime  he  leisurely  had  filled. 

"Art  angered  with  me,  eh,  sweetheart?"  said  Rafe,  with 
his  dark  face  keen  and  kindly  in  the  glow  of  the  candle  that 
Isabel  held  to  his  pipe  bowl. 

"Nay,"  she  answered,  "not  long  angered,  but  indeed  I 


136  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

marvel  how  you  can  speak  as  if  you  did  not  condenm  that 
outcast  ruffian  Hetherington." 

Rafe  moved  his  tankard  with  an  impatient  hand,  and  if 
it  were  not  a  trick  of  Jock's  imagination,  knit  his  brows  in  a 
passing  frown.  "Truth,"  said  he,  but  not  in  so  light  a  tone 
as  plainly  he  had  striven  for,  "there  are  folk  enough  to  condemn 
this  luckless  Hetherington.     I've  no  need  to  fill  up  the  cry." 

Said  Isabel:  "Whatever  befall  him,  he  has  well  deserved 
it.  Remember  how  he  did  abuse  our  only  son,  my  harmless 
little  Philip." 

"Mere  rough  play,"  Rafe  answered  curtly,  "too  rough  for 
so  young  a  child,  wherefore  I  would  have  seen  this  galliard 
Hetherington  himself  ducked  in  the  horse-pond,  and  so  cried 
quits  with  him." 

At  that  Isabel,  pitiless  as  only  a  good  woman  could  be, 
cried  out  upon  such  lenience. 

Again  Rafe  shifted  the  tankard.  "Well,  well,"  he  cut  her 
short,  "Lambert  will  retake  him,  no  question  of  that,  and 
then,  in  the  temper  that  Lambert  now  is  in,  I  think  that  you 
yourself  will  say  that  Hetherington  is  not  handled  over- 
tenderly." 

In  Rafe's  voice  was  an  undernote  of  something  that  was 
not  strong  enough  to  be  called  pity  for  the  hunted  Hether- 
ington, or  contempt  for  Wogan  and  his  fellow-huntsmen,  or 
scorn  of  his  own  self  that  kept  silent,  stifling  an  honest 
doubt,  yet  shared  the  nature  of  all  three.  Jock  caught  that 
note  and  felt  his  courage  revive,  and  Isabel  caught  it  too, 
and  so  he  marked  with  joy,  reading  therein  a  confirmation 
of  his  own  belief. 

"Then,"  said  Isabel,  and  most  dovelike  to  look  upon, 
showed  that  like  a  dove  she  could  upon  occasion  peck,  "if 
you  be  so  stirred  with  compassion  for  that  wretched  scoun- 
drel, 'tis  pity  you  cannot  yourself  retake  him.  No  doubt  you 
would — "    She  paused,  in  search  of  a  withering  sarcasm,  and 


A  GUEST  UNLOCKED  FOR  137 

being  a  woman  of  barren  imagination,  was  inspired  by  the 
table  before  her.  "No  doubt,  Rafe,  you  would  bid  that 
ruffian  to  supper,"  she  concluded  scornfully. 

"I  would,"  said  Rafe,  and  rose,  half  smiling,  and  stood 
gazing  down  at  his  indignant  wife.  "  Hetherington  looked 
hungry  t'other  night  at  Graystones,  and  by  now  I'll  wager  he 
looks  hungrier  still." 

"At  times  you  do  mad  me,"  said  Isabel,  helplessly,  and 
Rafe  kissed  her,  all  unwilling  though  she  was,  and  handed 
her  to  the  door  and  out  upon  the  stairs  that  led  to  the  hall 
that  was  now  deserted. 

When  she  had  gone,  Rafe  closed  the  door  behind  her  and 
sauntered  back  to  the  table.  He  did  not  sit,  and  though  he 
took  up  his  tankard  he  put  it  down  again  untasted.  For  a 
long  minute  he  stood  smoking  slowly,  with  his  eyes  on  the 
candles  before  him  and  his  brows  knit,  and  Jock,  watching 
breathlessly,  felt  that  he  would  have  given  much,  could  he 
have  read  his  thoughts.  At  last  Rafe  snuffed  out  the  candles 
with  his  fingers,  oae  and  then  another,  till  but  a  single  light 
twinkled  on  the  table,  and  then,  by  no  conscious  volition, 
only  with  a  sense  that  at  some  time  this  that  he  had  planned 
must  be  put  to  the  proof,  Jock  dashed  aside  the  arras. 

At  the  slight  stir  of  the  hangings  Rafe  looked  up,  tense  and 
wary,  and  across  the  dim  parlor  the  two  men  eyed  each  other 
for  an  instant,  while  Rafe  puffed  a  thought  more  quickly  at 
his  pipe,  and  Jock  licked  his  dry  lips  with  his  tongue. 

"Mr.  Heyroun!"  Jock  began,  and  then,  with  desperate  in- 
solence, walked  out  into  the  room  and  set  himself  astride  a 
chair.  Over  his  folded  arms  that  rested  on  the  chair-back 
he  looked  at  the  silent  man  before  him,  and  he  was  minded 
to  try  pleas  and  threats  and  arguments  and  a  hundred 
other  devices,  but  what  he  ended  by  saying,  bluntly  and 
blunderingly,  was :  "  You  see !  Even  as  you  bade  me,  sir,  I 
am  come  hither  to  supper." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HIMSELF   AGAIN 

While  Jock  wrought  havoc  among  the  stewed  mutton  and 
parsnips,  Rafe  Heyroun  sat  opposite  him  at  the  table,  with 
his  face  half  shadowed  in  the  dim  light  of  the  one  candle,  and 
courteous  and  half  amused,  asked  questions  touching  Jock's 
escape  from  the  burning  cottage.  With  a  complete  realiza- 
tion that  his  fate  hung  on  the  issue  of  this  hour,  Jock  an- 
swered in  kind,  and  once,  at  least,  contrived  to  make  Rafe 
smile.  To  keep  Rafe  amused  and,  in  a  careless  way,  half 
sorry  for  him,  to  convince  Rafe  that  he  was  no  mere  stray 
trooper,  to  be  left  without  compunction  to  Wogan's  tender 
mercies,  but  a  man,  as  individual  and  as  sensitive  as  was  Rafe 
himself,  that,  Jock  reasoned,  was  for  the  present  his  best  hope. 

Not  till  he  had  made  his  supper,  and  felt  that,  thanks  to 
the  comfort  of  food  and  drink  and  a  half  hour  of  civil  treat- 
ment, he  was  restored  in  courage,  did  he  set  himself  to  the 
serious  business  that  was  before  him.  He  leaned  forward, 
then,  with  his  folded  arms  upon  the  table.  "You'll  under- 
stand, sir,"  he  broke  the  moment's  silence  that  had  fallen, 
"  I  did  not  come  to  seek  you  solely  to  get  my  supper,  though 
I  thank  you  for  it.  I  came  hither  to  ask  you  a  question  that 
already  you  must  have  asked  of  yourself." 

Rafe  lifted  his  brows,  and  his  face  became  inscrutable. 

With  a  sinking  of  the  heart,  Jock  saw  that  the  real 
man  who  had  smiled  at  his  escapes  had  taken  alarm  in  his 
remnant  of  Puritan  conscience  and  was  drawing  away  to  a 

138 


HIMSELF  AGAIN  139 

suspicious  distance.  None  the  less,  he  went  forward  stub- 
bornly: "Mr.  Heyroun,  I  pray  you  question  yourself:  why 
did  your  cousin  Philip,  the  chestnut-haired  one,  lie  as  to  my 
identity?  Why  was  he  fain  to  set  an  ignorant  substitute  in 
the  place  of  the  right  Captain  Hetherington,  who  might  have 
borne  tales  ?    Why  — " 

"  My  good  —  Captain,"  said  Rafe,  deliberately,  "  I  have  re- 
ceived no  proof  that  my  kinsman  lied." 

So  speaking,  Rafe  made  as  if  to  push  back  his  stool  and  rise, 
but  Jock,  on  desperate  impulse,  reached  across  the  narrow 
table  and  caught  his  arm.  "Give  me  but  time  and  oppor- 
tunity to  prove  that  I  am  I,"  he  begged,  "  and,  sir,  as  I  live, 
before  you  are  done,  you  shall  have  sport  and  to  spare  with 
your  cousin  Philip." 

Beneath  his  grasp  Jock  felt  Rafe's  arm  relax,  and  in  Rafe's 
eyes  he  caught  a  flash  of  the  original  devil,  half  mere  mischief, 
half  settled  hate,  that  boded  little  good  to  the  chestnut-haired 
Philip.  "  Well,"  said  Rafe,  but  his  voice  was  guarded,  "  and 
how  will  you  go  about  to  prove  that  you  are  the  man  you 
claim  to  be?" 

"  There  are  those  in  Yorkshire  —  "  Jock  began. 

Rafe  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  smile  that  to  Jock 
seemed  the  very  headsman  to  his  hope.  "A  safe  choice!" 
said  he.     "Yorkshire  is  many  leagues  hence." 

Jock  drew  back,  where  he  had  leaned  half  across  the  table, 
and  for  a  moment  sat  silent.  He  had  cast  down  his  eyes, 
but  he  felt  the  candlelight  full  upon  his  face  and  knew,  for  his 
torment,  that  Rafe,  at  his  leisure,  was  scrutinizing  and  ap- 
praising him.  Hopelessly  he  was  seeking  for  some  new  road 
by  which  to  break  through  the  rampart  of  his  opponent's 
studied  unbelief,  when  just  outside  the  door  he  caught  the 
sound  of  a  high-pitched  child's  voice :  "  Daddy !  Are  you 
within?" 

At  the  words  Raf?  turned  in  his  place,  but  before  he  could 


140  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

speak,  the  door  to  the  hall,  which  stood  unlatched,  was  pushed 
half  open,  and  through  the  crack  a  little  boy  sidled  into  the 
room.  Plainly  he  had  just  come  prowling  from  his  bed.  His 
feet  and  legs  were  bare;  he  wore  his  little  shirt  outside  his 
breeches ;  and  his  brown  hair  fell  in  a  disordered  tangle  about 
his  keen  face  and  his  dark  eyes  that  were  like  Rafe  Heyroun's. 

One  glance  Jock  took  from  the  man  to  the  boy  that  was  the 
man  in  little,  the  boy  that  was  Rafe's  only  son,  the  boy  that 
his  merry  cousin  had  half  drowned  in  the  horse-trough  at 
Graystones;  then  he  staked  everything  on  one  desperate 
hazard.  "Mr.  Heyroun,"  he  said  crisply,  "I  have  a  witness 
to  my  identity  nearer  than  Yorkshire,  and  he  stands  yonder. 
Lad  !"  He  turned  to  the  bewildered  child.  "Will  you  come 
hither  to  me?" 

If  the  child  should  cry  out,  or  even  shrink  and  draw  back, 
Jock  realized  that  his  last  hope  would  be  taken  from  him,  but 
he  found  that,  acting  on  mere  instinct,  he  had  acted  wisely. 
Little  Philip  Heyroun  was  his  father's  son  in  more  than  looks. 
Warily,  like  his  father,  but  with  good  courage,  he  eyed  the 
stranger  that  had  addressed  him,  and  then  he  looked  to  his 
father,  but  Rafe  made  no  sign,  save  that  he  leaned  forward 
in  his  seat  with  eyes  intent  on  what  was  passing.  Of  his  own 
will,  then,  the  boy  pattered  across  the  room,  and  with  a  grave 
little  bow  gave  his  hand  to  Jock. 

"How  do  you  fare,  sir?"  he  asked  with  childish  courtesy, 
and  he  made  no  sign  of  shrinking  when  Jock  slipped  an  arm 
about  him  and  drew  him  to  stand  between  his  knees. 

"So  you  live  here  at  Dray  cote,  eh,  my  man?"  Jock  asked 
in  a  voice  that  he  tried  hard  to  keep  indifferent. 

"Ay,"  said  the  boy,  "with  daddy  and  mammy  and  my 
sister  Nell,  but  she  is  a  girl  and  cannot  climb." 

"Perchance,"  Jock  hesitated,  "you  go  sometimes  to  visit 
your  kin  at  Graystones?" 

Again  the  child  assented.    "Ay,  sir.    I  went  thither  in 


HIMSELF  AGAIN  141 

June,  and  Captain  Hetherington  did  souse  me  in  the  horse- 
trough,  but  I  did  not  cry,  and  when  I  am  a  man,  I  will  buy 
me  a  sword  and  kill  him.  Are  you  a  soldier  like  mine  Uncle 
Lambert?"  he  questioned  suddenly,  with  a  glance  at  Jock's 
great  boots.     "And  where  is  your  sword,  then?" 

"You  spoke  of  Captain  Hetherington,"  Jock  brought  him 
back  to  the  subject  in  hand.  "  Would  you  know  the  Captain 
an  you  saw  his  face?" 

The  child  nodded,  with  a  knitting  of  the  brows  that  made 
him  very  like  his  father,  and  thus  encouraged,  Jock  hazarded 
the  crucial  question,  "  You  do  not  hold,  then,  that  I  am  Cap- 
tain Hetherington?" 

Puzzled,  the  boy  looked  across  the  table  at  his  father,  who 
kept  silent,  and  then  he  looked  up  at  Jock,  and  slowly  parted 
his  lips  in  a  smile.     "  Thou  art  jesting,"  he  said  shyly. 

For  that  word  Jock  could  have  hugged  him,  but  loath  to 
startle  the  child,  he  held  himself  in  check.  "How  know 
you  that  I  am  not  the  Captain?"  he  asked  after  a  moment. 
"Tell  us  that,  boy." 

There,  however,  the  boy  was  at  a  loss  and  stood  frowning 
and  fumbUng  at  the  top  of  Jock's  boot  with  one  small  hand. 
"He  was  he,  and  you  are  you,"  he  said  at  last.  "You  do 
not  speak  with  his  voice,  and  —  and  — "  With  sudden  inspi- 
ration he  laid  his  hand  on  Jock's  left  arm  that  rested  laxly 
across  his  knee.  From  elbow  to  wrist  the  shirt  sleeve  was 
rent  away,  and  the  arm  was  bare.  "Sure,"  said  the  boy, 
with  the  pride  of  a  discoverer,  "Captain  Hetherington  had  a 
scar  within  his  arm  and  I  saw  it.  When  he  doused  me  into 
the  horse-trough,  his  shirt  sleeve  was  upturned  and  I  saw  the 
scar.  And  you  have  no  scar.  But  you  are  a  soldier,  none 
the  less?    And  were  you  in  battles?" 

The  question  fell  upon  deaf  ears,  for  Rafe  was  out  of  his 
seat  at  last  and  stood  over  Jock,  candle  in  hand,  and  Jock, 
without  waste  of  words,  had  thrust  back  his  right  shirt  sleeve 


142  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

and  held  both  unscarred  arms  to  the  light.  For  a  moment, 
then,  the  two  men  scanned  each  other  in  silence,  across  the 
tousled  head  of  the  wide-eyed  child. 

"Still,"  said  Rafe,  replying  to  what  had  not  been  spoken, 
"  the  boy  is  scarce  seven  years  old,  too  young  for  credence  in 
a  court  of  law." 

"This  is  no  court  of  law,"  retorted  Jock,  in  a  voice  that 
struck  a  note  of  masterfulness. 

At  last  he  realized  that  the  balance  was  inclining  to  his 
side,  and  in  that  realization  felt  his  confidence  wax  strong. 
He  came  to  his  feet,  and  leaning  with  both  hands  on  the  table, 
poured  out  his  plea  in  what  was  for  him  a  veritable  torrent 
of  words.  To  the  Rafe  Heyroun  that,  after  his  careless  fash- 
ion, would  liefer  be  kind  to  all  men  than  to  play  the  bully,  he 
pleaded  for  mere  justice,  for  the  mercy  of  protection  from 
Wogan's  threatened  vengeance  that  he,  who  was  not  Captain 
Hetherington,  had  in  no  wise  merited;  to  the  Rafe  Heyroun 
that  was  weary  of  Draycote  and  longed  for  diversion,  he  set 
forth  the  zest  of  the  game  of  hunting  down  the  chestnut-haired 
Philip  in  the  coils  of  his  lie.  Strengthening  this,  his  strongest 
line  of  pleading,  he  freely  gave  away  his  hoarded  information 
—  how  the  right  Captain  Hetherington  was  dead  at  Col- 
chester, how  the  chestnut-haired  Philip  had  besought  him, 
standing  in  the  Captain's  place,  to  be  silent  —  and  as  he 
spoke,  he  held  Rafe's  eyes,  and  glimpsing  the  soul  beyond, 
knew  that  he  had  shaken  the  man  from  the  unbeUef  where 
he  had  chosen  to  ground  himself. 

Yet  Rafe,  the  wary  and  experienced,  was  non-committal. 
He  heard  Jock  to  the  end  without  comment,  and  still  without 
comment  turned  then  to  the  deeply  interested  child,  with  a 
commonplace  question  as  to  what  had  brought  him  out  of 
bed.  The  child,  it  seemed,  had  been  wishful  to  have  a  drink 
of  water  from  the  kitchen,  so  Rafe,  with  a  meaning  word 
to  Jock  to  stay  till  his  return,  led  him  from  the  parlor. 


HIMSELF  AGAIN  143 

Left  alone,  Jock  leaned  against  the  table  and  eyed  the  door 
through  which  Rafe  had  gone,  and  wondered  what  Rafe 
would  say  on  his  return,  and  wondered  what  he  had  himself 
accomplished,  and  finally  ceased  wondering,  and  did  no  more 
than  stare  at  the  long  streaks  of  light  upon  the  dusky  floor. 
At  last  he  heard  Rafe's  step  on  the  stair,  and  Rafe  came  into 
the  room,  alone,  with  a  heavy  cloak  on  his  arm. 

"For  to-night  you  can  lie  here  undisturbed,"  said  Rafe, 
"  and  in  the  morning  —  well,  when  morning  comes,  we'll  find 
what  is  next  to  do.  Meantime,  I  have  your  promise  that  you 
will  attempt  no  more  escapes?" 

Jock  bowed,  with  the  touch  of  dignity  that  was  his  at  his 
oldest  and  best.  "In  all  things,  sir,  I  am  now  at  your  dis- 
posal," he  said,  and,  moved  by  something  in  the  tone,  Rafe 
turned  on  the  threshold,  candle  in  hand,  and  said  with  a 
smile,  "Give  you  good  night  —  Hetherington ! "  For  the 
first  time  he  omitted  the  hated  title  of  Captain,  and  that  omis- 
sion Jock  hugged  to  his  heart  by  way  of  comfort. 

After  Rafe  was  gone  and  the  room  was  in  darkness,  Jock 
wrapped  himself  in  the  cloak  and  lay  down  on  the  floor. 
Weary  to  the  bone  and  spent  with  two  full  nights  of  wakeful- 
ness, he  speedily  was  fast  asleep,  and  he  knew  no  more  till, 
roused  by  a  touch  upon  the  forehead,  he  opened  his  eyes  to 
find  the  parlor  gray  with  the  first  dawn  and  Rafe  Heyroun 
standing  over  him. 

Half  blinded  with  sleep,  Jock  rose  and  followed  Rafe  down 
the  short  flight  of  stairs,  across  the  empty  hall,  where  the 
hearth  was  gray  with  the  ashes  of  the  banked  fire,  and  so  by 
a  narrow  staircase  to  a  lobby  above  and  a  little  chamber  that 
nestled  beneath  the  eaves.  This  was  little  Philip's  sleeping 
place,  Rafe  gave  him  to  understand,  but  Uttle  Philip  was 
already  up  and  out.  Jock  could  rest  here  undisturbed  and 
unmarked  till  his  presence  was  required  belowstairs,  and 
meantime  here  was  fresh  water  and  a  razor,  and  clothes 


144  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

and  a  pair  of  shoes  that  Lieutenant  Philip,  most  ill  advisedly, 
it  would  appear,  had  stored  at  his  brother's  house. 

As  soon  as  he  was  alone,  Jock  set  to  work,  and,  to  the  tune 
of  the  awaking  life  in  the  stable-court  below  his  window, 
made  himself  clean  and  presentable  as  he  had  not  been  in 
some  days.  Midway  of  the  task  he  heard  a  dubious  little  rap 
at  his  door,  and  opening,  let  in  the  last  and  least  of  the  Philip 
Heyrouns.  Ostensibly  the  child  had  come  to  get  some  strands 
of  horsehair  from  the  chest  below  the  window  where  he  kept 
his  treasures,  but  in  reality,  as  was  soon  apparent,  he  was 
eager  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  pleasing  stranger. 
He  sat  down  on  the  bed,  and  while  Jock  shaved  and  settled 
himself  in  the  doublet  that  had  been  Lieutenant  Philip's  and 
found,  to  his  joy,  that  the  borrowed  shoes  were  a  tolerable  fit, 
entertained  him  with  sundry  tales  of  his  martial  uncles,  and 
ended  with  an  artless  request  for  a  story  about  a  battle. 
This  request  Jock  could  not  grant,  for  he  was  no  teller  of  tales, 
but,  by  way  of  compromise,  he  showed  little  Phil  how  to  braid 
a  fish-line  from  the  horsehairs,  and  over  this  task  they  were 
speedily  good  friends. 

They  were  sitting  side  by  side  on  the  chest,  with  the  child's 
head  resting  against  Jock's  arm,  as  he  watched  the  line  grow 
longer,  when  of  a  sudden  Jock  became  aware  of  a  new  note 
in  the  clamor  of  the  stable-court.  To  the  lowing  of  cattle, 
the  whinnering  of  horses,  the  voices  of  men,  were  added 
the  cry  of  dogs,  each  moment  louder,  and  the  hammering  of 
hoofs  on  the  hard-trodden  lane.  With  sudden  inspiration, 
Jock  slapped  his  thigh.  "The  leamers  from  Graystones,  for 
a  thousand  pound!"  he  said. 

Little  Phil,  much  interested,  scrambled  up  on  the  chest, 
and  peering  from  the  window,  made  a  prompt  report.  "  'Tis 
hounds  —  Utile  hounds  —  a  heap  of  'em,  baying  and  whin- 
ing. And  horses.  And  more  troopers.  And  Sim,  the  hunts- 
man, from  Graystones.     And  mine  Uncle  Philip."    In  the 


HIMSELF  AGAIN  145 

midst  of  the  clamor  of  the  dogs  that  now  rose  deafeningly 
from  the  stable-court,  he  snuggled  down  in  his  old  place 
beside  Jock.  "Finish  my  Une,  I  pray  thee,"  he  begged. 
"I'm  fain  to  show  it  to  my  Uncle  Phil." 

So  Jock,  listening  to  the  cry  of  the  hounds  that  had  tracked 
him,  went  on  steadily  twisting  the  fish-line.  He  did  not  find  it 
easy  to  do  at  that  moment,  but  he  would  have  essayed  a  much 
harder  task  for  the  sake  of  keeping  the  little  lad  there  at  his 
side.  He  twisted  the  line,  and  he  even  contrived  to  halt  out 
a  tolerable  story,  not  of  a  battle,  to  be  siu-e,  but  of  a  great 
trout  that  he  had  caught  long  ago,  as  a  young  lad,  in  one  of 
the  brown  becks  that  flowed  through  Daske  Forest,  and  all 
the  while,  as  he  talked,  he  listened  alertly  for  the  first  sound 
of  steps  outside  his  door.  He  heard  them  at  last,  and  how 
he  ended  his  tale  he  never  could  have  told,  but  at  least  he 
still  had  the  child  nestled  there  against  his  side  in  perfect 
friendliness,  when  the  child's  Uncle  Philip,  for  the  child's 
sake  Jock's  sworn  enemy,  burst  into  the  room. 

At  Lieutenant  Phil's  heels  was  Wogan,  white-faced  and 
grim,  and  Rafe  Heyroun,  as  inscrutable  as  an  image,  but 
Jock's  sole  concern  was  with  the  Lieutenant.  In  his  heart 
he  knew  that  already  he  had  won  Rafe  to  espouse  his  cause, 
and  with  equal  certainty  he  knew  that  he  could  never  win 
Captain  Wogan,  who  loved  Blanche  Mallory,  to  believe  that 
he  had  spoken  the  truth  and  that  she,  by  implication,  was 
false  and  worse,  but  of  this  blundering  and  headlong  Lieu- 
tenant Phil  he  had  his  hopes.  To  be  sure,  the  Lieutenant 
was  not  won  over  by  the  mere  sight  of  the  child  at  Jock's 
side.  He  had  to  bluster  and  expostulate  for  a  time,  while 
Rafe,  in  half  amusement,  and  Wogan,  in  grim  disapproval, 
added  no  more  than  a  word  or  two.  He  had  to  cross-ques- 
tion the  child,  reducing  him  at  last  almost  to  tears,  but 
throughout  Jock  sensed  that  more  and  more  the  Lieutenant 
was  yielding  to  a  doubt  as  to  his  identity. 


146  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRATSTONES 

Then,  from  an  unlooked-for  quarter,  came  assistance,  for 
Isabel  Heyroun  suddenly  appeared  in  the  room,  militant  and 
bristling,  and  caught  her  young  son  to  her.  "  Now,  by  my 
truly !"  said  she,  "you  are  well  put  to  work,  the  ging  of  you, 
to  vex  the  poor  lamb  till  he  is  ready  to  weep !  Why  will  you 
be  questioning,  Phil  Heyroun,  whether  yonder  man  be  Cap- 
tain Hetherington  or  no  ?  Have  you  no  eyes  to  see  ?  Why, 
this  is  not  that  black  swaggerer,  the  Captain.  This  is  no  more 
than  a  lad." 

Across  the  narrow  chamber  Jock  caught  Rafe's  amused 
eyes,  and  very  nearly  spoilt  all  by  smiling  at  the  jest  that 
in  silence  they  shared  between  them.  He  wondered  if  the 
gentlewoman  had  been  so  sure  of  his  youth  and  innocence, 
had  she  looked  on  him  a  little  earlier,  before  the  shave  and 
the  fresh  clothes  that  he  owed  to  Rafe's  long-headed  fore- 
sight, had  changed  him  from  the  semblance  of  battered  eight 
and  twenty  to  weary  and  rather  boyish  twenty-one.  Next 
moment  he  saw  another  reason  for  Mistress  He5Toun's  un- 
expected partisanship,  for  Wogan  at  last  took  a  hand  in  the 
family  imbroglio. 

"  'Tis  all  pestilence  folly !"  said  Wogan.  "The  child  is  too 
young  to  know  whereof  he  testifies,  and  did  not  Mistress 
Mallory  herself  swear  that  this  fellow  is  Captain  Hethering- 
ton?" 

"  My  child  is  as  good  a  witness  as  Blanche  Mallory  any  day ! " 
cried  the  sister  of  the  man  whom  Mistress  Mallory  designed  to 
marry,  and  went  on  to  cast  aspersions  on  crafty  hussies  in 
general,  naming  no  names,  and  having  no  need  to. 

At  that  Wogan  cried,  "Bel  Wogan!"  in  a  voice  that  sug- 
gested that,  had  she  been  indeed  Bel  Wogan  and  not  Bel 
Heyroun,  he  would  have  shaken  his  sister,  then  and  there. 

Then,  of  a  sudden,  the  Lieutenant,  convinced  against  his 
will,  came  charging  in  to  aid  his  sister-in-law.  "  Sure,  Lam- 
bert," said    the  Lieutenant,  "if  you  be  so  confident    that 


HIMSELF  AGAIN  147 

Mistress  Mallory  spoke  the  truth,  you  can  have  no  reason 
to  grudge  at  our  doing  all  that  we  can  to  sift  this  fellow's 
story.  When  he's  proved  in  the  end  to  be  a  Uar  —  as  no 
doubt  he  will  be !  —  why,  then  he's  still  a  prisoner  in  your 
hands  to  deal  with  as  best  likes  you." 

"Ay,"  sniffed  Isabel,  ignoring  her  brother-in-law's  ponder- 
ous diplomacy,  "if  you  were  a  kind  brother,  Lambert,  you 
would  rejoice  to  establish  this  man's  identity  and  thereby 
help  us  to  recover  the  deal  box,  when  you  know  not  but  that 
our  Uncle  Philip  may  have  left  an  inheritance  to  mine  own 
little  Phil,  and  you  have  ever  professed  to  love  the  child, 
and—" 

For  the  first  time,  to  outward  seeming,  Rafe  took  a  hand 
in  the  game.  "Go  to,  Bel!"  said  he.  "Uncle  Philip,  be 
sure,  never  left  a  groat  to  child  of  mine.  Never  look  that 
way,  lass !"  Then  he  glanced  at  the  cloudy  faces  of  his  kins- 
folk, and  half  smiling,  suggested  that  they  had  best  discuss 
the  matter  further  after  breakfast.  "'Tis  ill  arguing  on  an 
empty  stomach,"  he  concluded,  and  somehow  contrived  to 
send  all  from  the  room.  Last  of  the  train,  he  turned  upon 
the  threshold,  and  once  more  Jock  had  a  comfortable  sense 
of  sharing  a  jest  with  him.  "  Stay  here  until  I  send  for  you," 
Rafe  bade;   "'twill  not  be  long !"   and  so  went  his  way. 

For  a  full  hour  Jock  lay  upon  little  Philip's  bed  in  the 
deserted  chamber,  and  over  and  over  again  numbered  the 
allies  that  he  had  won.  Chief  of  all,  he  felt  that  Rafe  would 
insist  on  his  identification,  partly  for  mere  justice,  partly  for 
the  joy  of  battling  with  the  chestnut-haired  Philip,  and  Lieu- 
tenant Phil,  a  reputed  beneficiary  under  the  lost  wills  and 
so  set  to  snatch  at  any  least  hope  held  out  of  their  recov- 
ery, would  side  with  Rafe  for  his  own  fortune's  sake,  and 
Isabel  Heyroun,  most  unexpectedly,  would  make  a  third, 
partly  because  of  her  hopes  for  her  son,  should  the  lost  wills 
be  found,  and  partly,  Jock  concluded,  because  she  would  take 


148  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

any  side  in  reason  or  in  unreason  that  was  opposite  to  the 
side  on  which  Blanche  Mallory  fought.  These  three  he  could 
count  on,  and  he  felt  that  he  had  cruelly  misjudged  them  if 
they  did  not  prove  more  than  a  match  for  Lambert  Wogan. 

So  the  minutes  ran  on  and  the  hour  had  lengthened  to  two 
hours,  when  Jock  heard  a  sound  so  welcome  that  he  judged 
it  to  be  the  shaping  of  his  hopeful  fancy.  Almost  he  thought 
it  to  be  the  sound  of  horses  led  forth,  of  saddles  flung  into 
place,  of  all  the  pleasant  bustle  of  a  squadron's  making  ready 
to  mount  and  ride,  and  dreading  to  dissipate  the  vision,  he 
hesitated  to  rise  and  look  forth  into  the  stable-court.  But 
when  at  length  he  heard  the  unmistakable  voice  of  Captain 
Wogan,  giving  a  command  to  mount,  he  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  gained  the  window  in  two  strides.  Then  he  found  that  he 
had  not  dreamed  this  happy  consummation.  In  sober  truth, 
he  looked  down  upon  Wogan  and  Lieutenant  Phil  and  their 
men,  all  mounted,  and  presently,  a  sight  that  was  more 
gladsome  still,  he  saw  their  buff-coated  backs  and  the  tails 
of  their  horses,  as  they  defiled  into  the  narrow  lane. 

A  moment  later  little  Phil  came  once  more  to  the  chamber. 
Daddy  was  fain  to  speak  with  Mr,  Hetherington,  he  said, 
swelling  with  pride  that  he  should  do  the  errand,  and  Jock, 
at  the  word,  went  belowstairs  at  a  pace  that  troubled  the 
child  to  keep  up  with  him.  In  the  hall,  where  the  sunlight 
came  dimly  through  the  leaded  panes  of  the  eastern  window, 
Jock  saw  Mistress  Heyroun,  who  glanced  up  from  a  house- 
wifely task  and  bestowed  a  smile  upon  him,  because  he  was 
anathema  to  Blanche  Mallory,  and  then,  at  the  entrance  of  a 
passage  that  tunnelled  forth,  beneath  low  rafters,  to  a  flagged 
yard  without,  he  came  face  to  face  with  dark  Rafe  Heyroun. 
He  saw  that  Rafe  wore  the  look  of  a  man  who  has  won  a 
hard-fought  battle. 

"So  they  are  gone?"  Jock  spoke  his  thought  outright. 

"Ay,  gone!"    said  Rafe,  in  entire  harmony  with  Jock's 


HIMSELF  AGAIN  149 

mood  of  rejoicing,  and  then  tried  to  assume  a  formal  tone, 
and  did  it  so  ill  that  in  his  own  despite  he  smiled.  "  We  are 
in  some  doubt,  sir,  as  to  your  true  identity,  so  I  have  sent  for 
Inchcome  to  advise  with  me.  Until  he  decides  what  is  best 
to  do,  Captain  Wogan  —  whose  lawful  prisoner  you  are  —  has 
been  pleased  to  commit  you  to  my  custody." 

For  a  moment  Jock  stood  speechless,  while  from  his  mind 
there  slowly  faded  the  vision  of  the  whipping-post  at  Bury 
St.  Edmund's,  of  the  lonely  roof  room  at  Graystones,  of  the 
deadly  hatred  on  Captain  Wogan's  face,  what  time  he  felt  the 
Captain's  hands  close  upon  his  throat.  He  saw  the  low-roofed 
homely  farmhouse  hall  in  which  he  stood,  so  dim  the  instant 
before,  flooded,  as  it  were,  with  a  sudden  shower  of  light. 
Unsuspicious,  for  once,  and  grateful  to  the  point  where  words 
were  hard  to  find,  he  held  out  his  hand  to  Rafe.  "  From  my 
heart,  sir,  I  thank  you,"  he  said. 

"If  you  thanked  my  son  Philip,"  Rafe  answered,  "you 
would  go  nearer  to  putting  thanks  where  they  are  due,  sir. 
By  the  way,"  he  added,  with  his  hand  on  Jock's  shoulder, 
"what  is  it  that  you  call  yourself?" 

Jock  met  his  eyes,  with  the  rare  smile  that  he  had  for  his 
friends.  "I  was  christened  John  Hetherington,"  he  said, 
"  but  you  can  call  me  what  you  will,  so  that  you  do  not  call 
me  Captain  Hetherington." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  LATTER   END   OP  JOT 

In  the  natural  order  of  events  Esdras  Inchcome  should 
have  jogged  up  the  lane  to  Dray  cote  farm  next  day  or,  at 
longest,  the  day  after;  but  the  two  days  passed,  while  Jock, 
thankful  for  the  respite,  cemented  his  friendship  with  little 
Philip  and  won  the  favor  of  Mistress  Heyroun,  and  Rafe, 
thankful  for  the  diversion,  studied  Jock  and  found  him  satis- 
fying, and  still  there  was  no  sign  of  the  little  old  lawyer.  On 
the  third  day,  however,  came  a  servant  from  Graystones  with 
a  letter  from  Martin  Heyroun,  and  when  Rafe  had  scanned 
it,  he  strolled  forth  in  quest  of  Jock. 

Rafe  found  Jock  in  the  orchard,  closely  attended  by  Phil 
and  his  small,  chubby  sister  Eleanor,  for  whose  joint  delecta- 
tion he  was  trimming  a  fish-rod.  In  that  task  he  employed 
a  tolerable  clasp  knife,  which,  at  Rafe's  approach,  he  bestowed 
in  his  pocket  with  a  serene  air  of  possession.  "Well,"  said 
Rafe,  "here's  news  out  of  Graystones!"  and  "Well?"  Jock 
answered,  in  much  the  same  indifferent  tone,  though  at  the 
word  "Graystones"  his  face  had  darkened. 

Briefly,  Rafe  explained  what  had  happened:  how  Inch- 
come  had  been  summoned  into  Cambridgeshire  by  an  old  friend 
and  client,  how  the  old  friend's  son  —  "As  shuttle-headed  as 
yourself,  it  seems,"  Rafe  commented,  for  Jock's  benefit  —  had 
been  out  in  arms  for  the  king  and  taken  prisoner,  how  Inch- 
come  was  needed  to  arrange  for  the  ransoming  of  the  unlucky 
gentleman,  how  the  said  business  might  Qonsume  some  days' 

160 


THE  LATTER  END  OF  JOY  151 

time,  and  meanwhile:  "Until  Inchcome  has  leisure  to  advise 
upon  your  case,"  Rafe  concluded,  "you  must  be  content  still 
to  remain  at  Dray  cote." 

"I  am  well  content,"  said  Jock,  and  with  a  face  of  relief 
lugged  forth  his  knife  and  made  a  second  onslaught  on  the 
half-peeled  rod. 

"A  pretty  knife!"  commented  Rafe,  with  a  pleased  con- 
sciousness, wherein  Jock  silently  shared,  of  the  indignation 
with  which  Wogan  would  have  seen  his  lawful  prisoner  hand- 
ling such  a  tool. 

"Ay,"  said  Jock,  "I  had  it  of  your  ploughman  in  way  of 
trade." 

This  calm  assertion  from  a  gentleman  whose  sole  asset  was 
his  skin,  filled  Rafe  with  joy.  He  was  eager  to  learn  more 
of  the  trade,  and  presently  Jock  admitted,  with  modest  diffi- 
dence, "  He  gave  me  the  knife,  and  when  leisure  serves  I  will 
make  him  with  it,  in  exchange,  a  twelve-piece  fish-rod,  such 
as  we  make  in  Yorkshire  whence  I  come." 

Said  Rafe,  "  After  this  account  of  your  trading,  'tis  a  waste 
of  words  to  tell  me  what  county  you  come  of." 

Thereafter  Rafe  called  Jock  "  Yorkshire,"  a  name  that  Jock 
half  resented  at  first  as  in  duty  bound,  and  then  answered  to 
readily,  half  pleased,  in  secret,  that  Rafe  chose  to  be  familiar, 
as  a  man  might  be  only  with  his  friends.  Not  only  did  Jock 
have  a  reasonable  sense  of  the  benefits  that  he  could  draw 
from  Rafe's  tolerance,  but  also,  with  a  far  worthier  feeling, 
he  had  come  honestly  to  like  Rafe  himself. 

This  liking  Rafe  was  pleased  to  return,  for  he  lived  to  be 
diverted  and  he  had  found  Jock  diverting  from  the  moment 
when  he  had  come  forward  to  demand  his  supper.  So  Rafe 
was  kind  and  companionable,  as  Jock  had  not  had  the  slight- 
est expectation  that  he  would  be,  and  Jock  himself,  uncon- 
sciously responding  with  his  best  to  courtesy  and  fair 
treatment,  showed  less  and  less  of  the  frank-spoken  httle 


152  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

ruffian  of  his  dead  kinsman's  description,  and  more  and 
more  of  the  taciturn,  brave  lad,  not  yet  quite  man,  that  had 
won  Verney  Claybourne's  regard.  In  brief,  Rafe  and  Jock 
discovered,  in  the  face  of  their  opposing  pohtics,  that  they 
had  common  ground  whereon  to  build  a  friendship,  and  thus 
it  came  about  that,  in  the  quiet  backwater  of  Draycote  into 
which  the  tide  of  war  had  whirled  him,  Jock  found  his  days 
running  as  smoothly  as  ever  they  had  nm  in  his  buffeted 
existence. 

It  was  the  fifth  or  sixth  day  since  Jock's  coming  to  Dray- 
cote, when  one  noontime  he  heard  a  smart  clatter  of  hoofs 
in  the  stable-court,  and  like  a  true-born  member  of  the  house- 
hold, sauntered  thither,  somewhat  behind  the  rest,  to  see 
what  was  toward.  From  the  spot  where  he  halted,  hard  by 
the  kitchen  doorway,  he  could  see  in  the  stable-court  a  big 
troop  horse,  with  the  stableboys  bustling  about  him,  and 
Lieutenant  Phil  Heyroun,  loud  in  talk  with  his  brother;  and 
a  little  apart,  seated  on  the  edge  of  the  horse-trough,  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  girl  whose  face  was  shadowed  by  her  hood,  but 
whose  slender  young  figure  set  his  memory  stirring. 

While  Jock  hesitated,  little  Phil  found  words.  "'Tis  my 
cousin  Althea!"  he  cried,  and  straightway  slipped  into  the 
press  of  the  stable-court.  When  he  slipped  out  again  he  was 
towing  Althea  Lovewell  by  the  hand. 

Now  at  that  moment  Rafe  and  all  the  men  at  Draycote 
were  preoccupied  with  the  horse,  which  had  gone  lame  and 
needed  kind  and  noisy  attention,  and  all  the  wenches,  lean- 
ing on  the  paling  of  the  stable-court,  were  preoccupied  with 
the  men,  and  Mistress  Heyroun,  who  was  preoccupied  in  the 
kitchen  with  the  making  of  custards,  had  not  deigned  to  look 
forth,  and  so  it  came  to  pass  that  for  a  little  space,  in  the 
midst  of  a  crowd  of  folk,  Jock  and  Althea  stood  alone  and 
unmarked.  Their  eyes  met,  and  for  an  instant,  while  little 
Phil  explained  to  each  who  the  other  was,  they  kept  up  a 


THE  LATTER  END  OF  JOY  163 

prudent,  formal  pretence  of  never  having  exchanged  so  much 
as  two  words,  and  then  the  girl's  eyes  came  alive  and  danced, 
and  Jock  bit  his  lip,  himself  more  than  half  minded  to  laugh. 

"So  you  are  come  unto  Draycote,  mistress?"  said  he,  for- 
mally, for  the  benefit  of  the  little  pitcher,  called  Philip,  that 
stood  at  his  elbow. 

"Ay,  sir,"  she  answered  with  a  solemn  little  courtesy. 
"  And  you  came  hither,  too.  I  see,  then,  you  took  good  coun- 
sel and  believed  at  the  last  that  my  cousin  Rafe  was  a  gen- 
erous and  kindly  gentleman,  even  as  —  some  one  told  you." 

"Some  one  was  kind,"  Jock  replied  earnestly,  "and  I  stand 
deeply  in  her  debt." 

"Whose  debt?"  said  Little  Pitcher,  and  Althea  laughed 
and  bent  to  kiss  him. 

"  Now  bring  me  to  thy  mother,  Phil,"  she  said,  "  for  I  must 
speak  with  her,"  and  as  she  said  the  words,  either  it  was 
Jock's  fancy,  or  the  mischief  died  from  her  eyes  and  her  face 
grew  tired  and  troubled,  as  he  sensed  that  it  must  have 
looked  on  that  day  when  from  afar  he  had  watched  her  brood- 
ing in  the  garden. 

Althea  went  her  way  into  the  house,  and  presently,  shrug- 
ging off  her  affairs  as  after  all  no  proper  concern  of  his,  Jock 
strolled  into  the  stable-court  and  added  his  share  to  the  con- 
fused counsels  that  prevailed  round  the  injured  horse.  Oddly 
enough,  he  found  his  suggestions,  touching  a  poultice,  accept- 
able, —  oddly,  for  he  had  not  looked  to  find  such  wisdom 
in  Lieutenant  Heyroun.  They  tended  the  horse  together  in 
temporary  amity,  and  Lieutenant  Phil  informed  him  that  the 
good  beast  was  lamed  all  along  of  the  whim-whams  of  that 
foolish  wench,  his  cousin  Althea,  who  had  insisted  on  joining 
herself  unbidden  to  his  company  and  on  posting  to  Draycote 
that  very  day. 

"For  stark  folly  commend  me  to  a  woman!"  Lieutenant 
Phil  continued  the  subject  later,  when  he   and  Jock  had 


164  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

withdrawn  to  comfort  themselves  for  their  labors  with  beer 
in  the  buttery.  "  Why  is  not  one  day  as  good  as  another  to 
go  a- visiting?  What  if  my  cousin  Jarvis  is  bent  on  wooing 
the  silly  chit?  What  else  were  wenches  made  for,  if  not  to 
be  wooed?    Tell  me  that!" 

The  Lieutenant's  voice  had  risen  loud  in  eloquence,  when 
at  that  point  his  sister-in-law  appeared  in  the  doorway.  "I 
can  tell  you  that  you  know  very  little  about  the  matter, 
Philip  Heyroun,"  she  said  succinctly,  "and  you  may  both 
pack  out  of  my  buttery,  and  you  need  have  no  fear  that  you 
will  be  burdened  to  convey  Althea  back  to  Graystones  to- 
night, Phil,  for  she  is  to  stay  here  at  Dray  cote  as  long  as  it 
likes  her." 

Lieutenant  Phil  said,  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm,  that  he  was 
rejoiced  at  this  news.  Jock  said  nothing,  but  from  his  heart 
he  did  indeed  rejoice.  Partly  he  was  glad  for  the  girl,  who, 
as  he  read  her  story  between  the  lines,  had  in  desperation 
sought  and  found  a  refuge  from  Jarvis  Heyroun  and  his  hate- 
ful familiarity ;  partly  he  was  glad  for  himself  that  he  was  to 
have  at  hand  one  whom  he  knew  to  be  a  friend  to  him  and 
whom  he  guessed  to  be  a  pleasant  comrade. 

That  guess,  at  least,  he  was  able  soon  to  verify  by  expe- 
rience. Even  had  he  and  Althea  been  strangers,  as  they 
assiduously  feigned  to  be,  they  could  not  have  so  remained 
for  long,  while  the  two  children,  close  friends  to  both  of  them, 
made  a  living  link  to  draw  them  together.  In  the  children's 
company  they  went  to  look  at  this  and  that  of  the  farm- 
beasts,  or  to  seek  rose-hips  in  the  lane,  or  nuts  in  the  hazel 
copses,  and  on  such  rambles,  in  sentences  that  they  found 
the  more  diverting  to  frame  since  they  must  wrap  their 
meaning  carefully  from  little  Phil's  sharp  ears,  they  talked 
of  Graystones  and,  blessed  with  the  same  store  of  enemies 
beneath  that  roof,  grew  close  in  sympathy. 

The  next  step  in  acquaintance  they  made  when  they  ceased 


THE  LATTER  END  OF  JOT  166 

to  confer  seriously  and  fell  to  jesting  together,  and  that  step 
they  took  speedily.  Althea  was  born  for  clean  mirth,  and 
Jock  was  boy  enough  to  recover  the  boy's  trick  of  light 
laughter  that,  thanks  to  Colchester  and  Graystones,  he  had 
gone  near  to  forgetting.  Neither  of  them  was  overwitty 
in  speech,  but  in  those  heady  days  of  autumn  weather  they 
easily  found  merriment  in  slight,  foolish  things.  More  than 
once  Jock  teased  Althea,  reminding  her  that  she  was  his  kins- 
woman since  they  both  came  of  the  Lancashire  Holcrofts, 
and  invariably  Althea  let  herself  be  teased,  vowing,  with  a 
semblance  of  anger  that  delighted  him,  that  she  was  in  no 
wise  kin  to  any  of  the  name  of  Hetherington. 

Exactly  what  Jock  thought  of  himself  in  those  days  were 
hard  to  say,  for  consciously  he  did  not  think  at  all.  In  this 
lull  of  the  storm  he  was  content  merely  to  take  what  benefits 
kind  fate  was  pleased  to  send  him,  to  eat  and  sleep,  and 
jest  with  a  girl  whose  eyes  answered  his,  and  look  no  farther. 

With  the  girl  it  was  otherwise.  In  her  short  life  all  men  had 
looked  upon  her  with  indifference,  all  save  her  cousin  Jarvis, 
and  remembering  how  Jarvis  had  borne  himself,  she  had 
given  humble  thanks  that  the  rest  of  men  had  passed  her  by. 
But  now  when  she  looked  upon  Jock,  her  good  comrade,  she 
knew  that  there  might  be  yet  a  third  kind  of  man,  unlike  the 
others,  a  thousand  times  unlike  Parson  Jarvis,  and  in  the 
womanhood  that  was  dawning  for  her,  she  felt  her  heart 
move  toward  him. 

Unguarded  and  uncounselled,  she  realized  none  the  less  the 
danger  toward  which  she  stumbled,  yet  she  went  forward. 
She  reasoned  that  it  were  only  a  few  days,  only  a  few  hours, 
perchance,  that  they  yet  would  be  together,  and  then  he 
would  go  for  all  time.  Meanwhile,  surely  so  long  as  she  could 
laugh  with  a  whole  heart  she  was  safe,  so  with  him  she  laughed, 
though  in  her  bed  at  night  she  cried,  and  when  she  found 
that  she  thrilled  for  joy  to  hear  hini  n§ime  her  kinswoman, 


166  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

she  scolded  him  and  thought  that  thus  she  had  made  all 
secure. 

To  be  sure,  they  should  have  known  better,  and  so  they 
both  did !  but  presently  Jock  and  Althea  formed  a  habit 
of  taking  their  rambles  without  the  attendance  of  Phil  and 
little  Eleanor,  or,  even  better,  of  losing  those  innocents  upon 
the  way.  Still,  as  Jock  was  ready  to  maintain  with  his  dying 
breath,  the  unlucky  inspiration  of  the  game  of  hunt  and  hide 
came,  not  from  them,  but  from  Uttle  Philip.  Of  an  evening 
after  supper,  while  the  light  still  lingered  in  the  fields,  the  boy 
proposed  his  favorite  game,  and  nothing  would  serve  but  that 
Jock  and  Cousin  Althea  should  join  in  the  sport.  So  Althea 
ran  away  obediently  —  and  a  pretty  sight  it  was  to  see  her 
run,  so  light  and  sure  of  foot  was  she !  She  hid  herself  in  the 
orchard,  and  speedily  Jock  sought  the  same  hiding-place  and 
was  roundly  chidden  for  coming. 

"There  were  briars  in  the  spot  where  I  had  chosen  to  lie," 
he  explained  unabashed.  "Come!  Since  you  are  not  con- 
tent that  I  share  yoiu"  hiding-place,  let  us  go  seek  a  new  one 
that  shall  be  ours  in  common." 

At  the  northern  end  of  the  orchard  was  a  low  gate,  and 
through  it  they  passed  out  into  the  fields  where  the  barley 
lay  in  sheaves,  ready  for  the  wains  upon  the  morrow.  In  the 
shelter  of  a  pile  of  sheaves  they  sat  down  side  by  side,  and 
conscientiously  waited  for  little  Phil  to  come  find  them. 
While  they  waited,  a  great  moon  rose  slowly  above  the  dim 
roofs  and  the  church  tower  and  the  low  line  of  trees  that 
marked  the  east,  and  all  the  rolling  fields  and  meadows  at 
their  feet  were  bathed  in  the  strong  white  light,  and  the  shad- 
ows of  the  sheaves  and  the  hedgerows,  and  here  and  there  of  a 
single  tree  were  sharply  black.  The  sky  was  all  a-shimmer  with 
light,  wherein  a  few  stars  wavered,  and  the  air  was  still  and 
sweet  with  the  smell  of  autumn  flowers  and  of  ripened  grain. 

Somehow,  in  very  short  space,  Jock  and  Althea  had  for- 


THE  LATTER  END  OF  JOY  167 

gotten  little  Philip  and  the  game  that  they  played.  For  long 
minutes  they  sat  silent  or  spoke  few  words  and  foolish.  Once 
he  told  her  that  this  was  like  a  night  long  ago,  when  he  had 
stolen  forth,  a  mere  baby,  into  the  harvest  fields  beyond  the 
parsonage  at  Begdon,  and  had  lost  himself  and  cried  with 
fright  till  his  mother  had  come  to  seek  him.  "She  did  not 
chide  me,"  he  said.  "She  was  a  most  tender  and  gracious 
gentlewoman.  It  is  through  her  blood  that  you  and  I  are 
kin,"  he  added  quietly,  "and  you  are  like  unto  her." 

For  once,  in  the  moonlight  and  the  soft  air,  Althea  forgot 
that  it  was  her  part  to  deny  the  kinship.  She  let  her  hand 
rest  beneath  the  hand  that  Jock  had  laid  upon  it,  and  she 
spoke  in  a  very  gentle  voice  when  at  last  she  answered  him. 
"Is  it  any  comfort  that  you  still  hold  to  that  fancy  of  our 
being  kin?" 

"  'Tis  not  many  times,"  said  he,  "  that  I  have  offered  my- 
self as  a  kinsman  to  any  one,  so  'tis  vengeance  hard  to  find 
myself  rejected." 

He  spoke  lightly,  yet  behind  the  words  she  sensed  a  bitter 
truth  and  in  sudden  compassion  she  bent  nearer  him.  "I 
would  not  say  it  that  first  night,"  she  confessed  in  a  low  voice, 
"but  it  may  be  that  we  are  indeed  akin.  My  grandmother 
had  a  dear  cousin  who  called  her  daughter  Charlotte,  after 
her.  And  this  Charlotte  Holcroft  married  a  clergyman  in 
Daske  Forest,  but  I  have  long  since  forgot  his  name." 

"  It  would  be  Hetherington,  and  the  man  was  my  father," 
Jock  answered.  "That  makes  us  cousins  thrice  removed 
And  you  are  not  sorry  for  the  kinship?" 

She  shook  her  head  with  the  elvishness  of  her  quick  smile 
somewhat  softened  in  the  moonlight,  and  he  bent  suddenly 
and  kissed  her  hand  that  had  lain  beneath  his. 

"Oh!"  said  Althea,  quick  and  soft,  and  then  ere  he  could 
justify  himself,  her  eyes  grew  big  and  startled  and  she  said, 
"Oh!"  again,  but  in  a  different  tone.     "Do  you  hear  a  step 


168  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

amid  the  stubble?"  she  whispered.  " 'Tis  Phil,  come  to  find 
us." 

Rising  on  one  knee,  Jock  listened.  "  I  hope  it  is  Phil,  and 
no  other,"  he  said  beneath  his  breath,  and  almost  as  he  said 
the  words,  found  that  the  wish  was  wasted.  Round  the  pile 
of  sheaves  came  the  one  whose  step  they  had  heard,  and  it 
was  not  little  Philip  but  Rafe  Heyroun  himself. 

Rafe  halted  and  stood  looking  down  at  Jock  and  Althea, 
and  with  chill  discomfort  Jock  realized  that  the  man  who  had 
been  his  friend  had  withdrawn  many  leagues  distant,  and  in 
his  place  stood  a  sombre  gentleman  with  a  shred  of  Puritan 
conscience,  with  whom  he  had  small  acquaintance.  Desper- 
ately Jock  caught  at  the  first  plausible  explanation  that  came 
to  his  mind.  "  Sir,"  said  he,  "  I  have  just  learned  by  a  happy 
chance  that  Mistress  Lovewell  is  a  near  kinswoman  of  mine." 

"Yes,  Cousin  Rafe,"  Althea  pleaded,  "'tis  so  indeed!" 

Rafe  looked  unconvinced.  "  The  dew  is  heavy  and  you  were 
best  be  under  cover,"  he  told  Althea,  and  on  such  pretext  led 
the  way  back  to  the  house.  At  the  kitchen  door  he  let  the 
girl  pass  in,  but  he  stayed  Jock,  laying  a  hand  upon  his  arm. 
"Wait!"  said  he.  "So  you  are  kinsman  to  Mistress  Love- 
well.  And  what  degree  of  kin  are  you  to  Captain  Hethering- 
ton?" 

Jock  reddened  as  he  caught  the  implication.  "I  am 
a  cousin  in  the  first  degree,"  he  gave  a  curt  answer  to  the 
more  obvious  meaning  of  the  question,  and  so  departed  to  his 
chamber. 

For  a  long  space  he  stood  gazing  out  on  the  moonlit  fields 
and  the  glowing  sky  that,  so  short  a  time  before,  he  had 
watched  from  the  shelter  of  the  sheaves,  while  unwillingly  he 
realized  that  he  had  been  dwelling  in  a  fools'  paradise,  and 
that  the  fools'  paradise  now  was  at  an  end.  He  had  forgotten, 
so  kindly  had  they  used  him  at  Draycote,  that  to  be  a  Cavalier 
meant,  to  the  rank  and  file  of  the  Puritan  party,  to  be  a  liber- 


THE  LATTER  END  OF  JOT  169 

tine.  He  had  forgotten,  what  would  be  far  more  to  his  dis- 
advantage with  Rafe,  who  was  no  mere  fanatic,  that  he  came 
of  the  blood  of  Captain  Hetherington,  a  most  unblushing 
rakehell.  Thus  it  had  come  to  pass  that,  in  his  forgetfulness, 
he  had  aroused  in  Rafe  the  one  kind  of  suspicion  that  he 
would  find  it  hardest  to  allay,  and  in  that  pleasant  conscious- 
ness of  irreparable  mischief  done,  he  went  at  last  to  bed. 

Jock  rose  next  morning  with  the  set  purpose  of  winning 
back  somehow  the  ground  that  he  had  lost  in  Rafe's  favor, 
but  he  had  no  chance  even  to  make  the  attempt,  for  that  same 
day  Esdras  Inchcome,  returned  at  last  out  of  Cambridge- 
shire, drew  rein  in  the  court  of  the  Draycote  stable.  Five 
minutes  later  Inchcome,  Rafe,  and  Jock  were  closeted  in  the 
farmhouse  parlor,  and  Inchcome,  having  looked  upon  Jock,  in 
the  altered,  youthful  guise  that,  thanks  to  his  days  at  Dray- 
cote, he  now  wore,  had  given  over  his  last  vestige  of  belief 
in  Jock's  identity  with  Captain  Hetherington. 

"Here's  our  work  to  begin  afresh!"  Inchcome  said,  and 
promptly  outlined  a  new  plan  of  action.  He  was  bound  next 
day  to  London  on  the  business  of  his  Cambridgeshire  client, 
and  while  there  he  would  seek  out  and  send  to  Graystones 
any  credible  witnesses  to  his  identity  that  Jock  could  name. 

Long  since  schooled  by  Rafe  to  meet  this  contingency, 
Jock  named  his  men  —  the  host  of  a  tavern  in  Holborn,  a 
horse-trader  in  Smithfield,  the  keeper  of  a  gaming  house  in 
Cold  Harbor,  and  a  lawyer  of  sorts,  one  Symon  Wastel,  in 
Coleman  Street  —  all  Yorkshire  men  who  of  old  had  known 
him  and  his  cousin,  the  Captain.  In  special  did  he  lay  stress 
on  the  reliability  of  Symon  Wastel,  for  of  old  Wastel  had  had 
moneys  of  his  father,  the  Begdon  parson,  and  these  Jock  had 
sought  three  years  before  to  recover.  He  had  not  recovered 
the  moneys,  but  he  had  beaten  Wastel  and  broken  his  collar 
bone. 

"So  you  can  take  oath  on't  that  Sym  Wastel  will  give  his 


160  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

testimony  without  favor  unto  me,"  Jock  ended  his  explana- 
tion. 

With  close  attention  Inchcome  heard  Jock  out.  "A  hope- 
ful witness,  this  last!"  he  commented.  "O'  my  word,  Rafe, 
I  believe  this  Wastel  in  Coleman  Street  to  be  the  same  that 
once  was  in  your  Uncle  Philip's  service.  In  that  case  we  may 
rely  upon  him,  indeed." 

Rafe  nodded,  with  his  face  keen  and  alive  as  Jock  had  seen 
it  on  the  night  when  he  first  had  hinted  at  the  sport  of  running 
the  chestnut-haired  Philip  to  earth.  "A  chance,"  said  Rafe, 
"that  Captain  Hetherington's  cronies  may  have  been  also 
friends  to  my  swashing  cousin  Philip.  I'd  fain  speak  with  the 
ruffling  gentleman  dwells  in  Cold  Harbor.  Now,  by  my  credit, 
Inchcome,  I'll  ride  with  you  myself  to  London!" 

In  that  word,  as  Jock  knew,  there  rang  a  death  knell  to  one 
hope  of  his.  When  Rafe  left  Draycote,  he  suspected  that  he 
should  leave  also  and  that  his  destination  would  be  Gray- 
stones,  and  in  this  he  read  the  future  aright.  Later,  toward 
sunset,  Rafe  came  to  him  from  a  long  private  talk  with  Inch- 
come and  told  him  that  next  day  he  would  be  returned  to 
Wogan's  custody.  This  news  Jock  heard  in  stoic  silence.  To 
be  sure,  it  was  what  he  had  looked  for.  Still  he  could  not 
help  wondering  if,  had  he  not  been  cousin  to  Captain  Hether- 
ington,  had  it  not  been  for  the  girl  and  the  moonlight  and  the 
barley  field,  he  might  not  have  been  suffered  stay  yet  a  time 
longer  in  the  haven  of  Draycote,  safe  from  Wogan's  hands. 

Early  next  morning,  before  he  was  to  ride  with  Rafe  and 
Inchcome,  Jock  sought  to  have  a  word  alone  with  Althea,  but  he 
sought  in  vain.  Somehow,  as  on  the  day  preceding,  she  con- 
trived to  be  always  guarded,  now  by  the  two  children,  now  by 
the  ungain  serving  wench,  Bess,  now  by  Mistress  Heyroun  her- 
self, who  for  the  first  time  looked  upon  Jock  austerely.  So 
remote  had  Althea  become,  that  he  felt  bewilderedly  that  he 
must  have  dreamed  the  hour  in  the  barley  field  and  all  that 


THE  LATTER  END  OF  JOY  161 

went  before  to  make  that  hour  possible,  but  when  in  the  last 
moment  that  was  left  him  he  went  to  her  deliberately,  even 
before  Mistress  Heyroun's  face,  and  spoke  a  word  of  formal 
farewell,  he  suspected  that  he  was  again  at  fault.  Either  he 
could  not  trust  his  sight,  or  else  he  saw,  now  that  he  stood 
near  to  Althea,  that  she  had  been  weeping.  He  marked  a 
heaviness  in  her  lids,  a  tremulousness  about  her  lips,  that 
could  come  only  from  tears. 

"God  be  wi'  you!"  said  he,  and  tried  to  catch  her  eyes, 
but  her  eyes  that  hitherto  had  been  so  honest  avoided  his. 
He  had  to  go  his  way  with  the  wonder  still  upon  him,  whether 
she  too  had  wakened  from  a  fools'  paradise  and  for  that 
waking  had  wept. 


CHAPTER  XV 

SPRINGES  TO  CATCH  WOODCOCKS 

At  Heronswood,  the  village  of  crooked-gabled  houses 
strung  along  a  puddly  street,  where  half  of  Wogan's  troopers 
lay,  the  little  company  halted  to  eat  their  noon  meal,  and 
when  they  rode  on  again  their  number  was  less  by  one.  With 
a  brave  jingle  of  stirrup  irons  and  of  bits,  Rafe  and  Inchcome 
and  the  two  men  that  attended  them  headed  gayly  for  Lon- 
don town,  while  Jock  stood  in  the  miry  road  before  Lieuten- 
ant Philip's  quarters  and  watched  till  they  rounded  the  curve 
by  the  churchyard  wall  and  so  passed  out  of  his  sight. 

Then  it  was  that  Captain  Wogan,  who  stood  at  Jock's  elbow, 
deigned  at  last  to  speak  a  word  to  him.  Wogan's  head  was 
clear  of  bandages,  but  there  was  an  ugly  scar  on  his  forehead, 
and  by  the  look  of  his  face  and  the  tone  of  his  voice  Jock  de- 
cided that  he  had  neither  forgotten  the  buffets  at  Barbroke, 
nor  forgiven  him  for  having  had  the  insolence  to  claim  an 
identity  other  than  that  which  Mistress  Mallory  had  assigned 
him. 

Said  Wogan :  "  I'll  take  your  promise  that  you  will  attempt 
no  escape,  and  to  pleasure  my  brother  Heyroun  I'll  leave  you 
unguarded  and  grant  you  such  privileges  as  in  like  case  are 
accorded  to  a  gentleman." 

Jock  tried  to  force  himself  to  say  civilly,  "I  thank  you," 
and  said  the  words  like  a  challenge. 

"  No  need  to  say  it,"  Wogan  cut  him  short.  "  I  do  this  but 
at  my  brother's  entreaty,  and  I  tell  you  this  in  fair  warning : 

162 


SPRINGES  TO  CATCH  WOODCOCKS  163 

If  you  do  break  your  promise  in  the  least  particular,  I  hold 
myself  clear  of  all  pledges  to  Rafe,  and  then  I  have  medicine 
for  you  that  you'll  not  relish  in  the  taking." 

With  this  promise,  of  the  sincerity  of  which  he  had  no  doubt, 
still  ringing  in  his  ears,  Jock  presently  rode  for  the  second 
time  in  his  life  beneath  the  vine-covered  gatehouse  at  Gray- 
stones,  and  dismounted  at  the  door  of  the  grim  mansion  that 
was  once  more  to  be  his  prison.  Of  those  that  he  encountered 
in  the  next  hour  he  mentally  kept  a  list,  which  he  reviewed, 
when  at  last  he  was  alone  in  his  old  quarters  in  the  roof  room, 
and  found  edifying. 

Item,  he  checked  it  off,  one  middle-aged  gentlewoman  who 
sniffed.  That  was  Mistress  Difficult,  spiteful,  fanatic,  no 
friend  to  him,  and  vaguely  troubled  at  his  coming. 

Item,  one  middle-aged  gentlewoman  with  ringlets  who 
sobbed.  That  was  Mistress  Henrietta,  who  by  now  was  de- 
claring that  he  was  not  the  Captain  and,  unless  he  much 
misread  her,  would  never  forgive  him  for  being  the  innocent 
cause  of  her  conviction  as  a  liar. 

Item,  one  proper  handsome  young  gentlewoman,  named 
Mallory,  who  had  met  his  gaze  boldly  and  scornfully,  yet  at 
heart,  as  he  suspected,  feared  him  far  more  than  either  of  the 
older  women. 

Item,  one  whey-faced  young  Puritan,  Jarvis,  who  had  told 
him  outright  that  he  was  doomed  to  the  hell  of  perjurers  and 
false  witnesses. 

Item,  one  venerable  Puritan  sea-captain,  Martin  Heyroun, 
who  had  railed  upon  him  in  a  voice  of  thunder  for  a  scurvy 
impostor,  not  to  have  said  at  the  outset  that  he  was  not 
Captain  Hetherington. 

At  least  Jock  took  comfort  in  the  thought  that  one  of  his 
enemies,  the  chestnut-haired  Philip,  was  absent,  as  he  had 
contrived  to  learn,  upon  a  week's  pleasuring,  and  then  as  he 
realized  that  he  was  seeking  for  comfort,  he  mocked  at  his 


164  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

depression.  Surely,  he  was  no  little  lad  to  lose  heart  because 
of  the  hard  looks  and  open  sneers  that  inevitably  he  was 
doomed  to  bear  in  that  hostile  household. 

For  a  day  or  two  indeed  Jock  contrived  to  make  himself 
comfortable.  As  naturally  as  a  duck  takes  to  water,  he  gravi- 
tated to  the  stables,  where  he  struck  up  a  kind  of  armed  truce 
acquaintance  with  some  of  the  grooms  and  the  troopers  who 
were  quartered  at  Graystones,  and  where  moreover,  thanks 
to  the  dead  Philip  Heyroun,  he  found  a  goodly  fellowship  of 
horses  and  of  dogs.  But  soon  he  ceased  to  find  comfort  in 
the  soft  nuzzling  of  a  horse's  nose  or  the  wet  caress  of  a  dog's 
eager  tongue,  and  in  some  amazement  he  realized  that,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  was  hungry  for  human  kindness, 
such  as  he  had  known  at  Draycote. 

As  unsentimental  a  youth  as  ever  drew  breath,  Jock  would 
not  admit  that  his  separation  from  Althea  had  anything  to 
do  with  the  mood  of  doubt  and  of  discom-agement  that  now 
settled  upon  him.  It  was  only  that  here  at  Graystones, 
when  he  looked  beyond  the  passing  moment,  he  saw  blackness 
ahead.  Even  should  his  identity  be  established  beyond  ques- 
tion, he  asked  himself,  what  good  would  come  to  him  thereby  ? 
When  he  was  proved  to  be  plain  Jock  Hetherington,  an  out- 
at-elbow  gentleman,  incapable  of  paying  ransom,  what  better 
fate  could  he  look  for  than  a  term  of  forced  labor  in  the  swel- 
tering cane  fields  of  Barbadoes? 

At  Draycote  Jock  had  found  it  possible  to  stifle  such  doubts, 
repeating  to  himself  that  somehow,  at  the  last,  Rafe  Hey- 
roun would  stand  his  friend.  At  Graystones,  reverting  to 
his  old  cynicism,  he  called  himself  a  fool  to  have  trusted  Rafe 
or  any  man.  Yet  always  in  his  heart  something  at  which  he 
scoffed  kept  telling  him  that  he  would  believe  in  Rafe  and  see 
the  future  clear  once  more,  could  he  have  a  single  hour  at 
Draycote,  could  he  speak,  even  of  light  and  foolish  things,  with 
Althea  Lovewell,  or  for  one  silent  minute  look  into  her  eyes. 


SPRINGES  TO  CATCH  WOODCOCKS  166 

One  night  he  dreamed  of  standing  thus  with  her,  and  he 
felt  the  doubt  and  the  dread  of  the  future  fall  from  him.  It 
was  a  foolish  dream,  in  which  he  caught  the  glint  of  scarlet 
rose-hips  at  a  turn  of  the  lane  that  he  knew,  and  heard  little 
Phil's  voice  crying  to  him  to  come  play  at  hunt  and  hide, 
but  through  the  vague  blending  of  sight  and  sound  he  kept 
the  steady  vision  of  Althea's  face  and  the  sense  of  comfort 
that  came  with  her  presence.  When  he  woke  and  found  him- 
self lying  in  the  roof  room,  with  the  light  of  the  waning  moon 
that  he  had  watched  with  her  as  it  waxed  great  falling  chill 
across  his  bed,  he  felt  that  he  could  have  wept  for  loneliness 
and  disappointment  and  the  burden  of  doubt  that  pressed 
upon  him  the  more  heavily  for  that  moment  of  release. 

So  clear  had  been  the  dream  that  the  thought  of  Althea 
stayed  with  Jock,  even  when  the  day  had  dawned  and  he 
went,  a  sullen  object  of  suspicion,  lounging  his  listless  way 
about  the  house.  Half  unconsciously  he  shaped  his  steps 
toward  the  walled  garden  where  days  before  he  had  seen  the 
girl  about  her  tasks.  The  leaves  of  the  cherry  trees  were  now 
touched  with  a  pinkish  tinge,  and  the  carnations  were  with- 
ered, and  the  gilliflowers  were  past  their  prime.  He  saun- 
tered slowly  along  the  gravelled  path,  and  now  stood  and 
tried  to  figure  the  face  of  the  girl  as  he  remembered  it,  and 
now,  in  anger  at  his  failure  to  recall  the  charm  of  her  living 
presence,  strode  on  more  quickly,  and  as  he  went  switched 
off  the  heads  of  the  late  marigolds  with  a  bit  of  stick  that  he 
had  caught  up. 

He  had  been  so  sure  that  he  had  the  garden  to  himself  that 
he  started  in  surprise  when  he  caught  the  sound  of  a  step  on 
the  gravel  behind  him.  Guardedly  he  faced  about,  and  he 
felt  his  surprise  redouble  as  he  recognized  the  man  that  was 
approaching.  It  was  the  chestnut-haired  Philip,  returned 
at  last  from  his  pleasuring.  Fresh  from  the  sight  of  Rafe, 
Jock  realized  as  never  before  the  hideousness  of  the  resem- 


166  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

blance  that  was  between  the  kinsmen,  for  PhiUp,  as  he  saw 
him  now,  was  Rafe  limned  with  a  weaker  pencil  and  colored 
in  washed-out  tints,  chestnut  and  sallow  where  Rafe  was  black 
and  brown,  buckling  at  the  waist,  like  a  warped  plank,  where 
Rafe  held  himself  flawlessly  erect. 

In  the  midst  of  his  scrutiny  Jock  realized  that  Philip  stood 
blinking  at  his  side  and  he  heard  him  speak  in  a  low  voice, 
"  Please  you  to  step  with  me  a  pace  into  the  filbert  walk,  Mr. 
Hetherington  ?  " 

At  the  unlooked-for  omission  of  the  title  of  Captain,  Jock 
opened  his  eyes,  and  then  without  reply  followed  the  chestnut- 
haired  Philip  into  the  shelter  of  the  nut  trees  that  screened 
them  from  the  windows  of  the  house.  Something  was  afoot, 
he  knew,  and  at  the  prospect  of  action  he  lost  all  kinship  to 
the  lad  that  a  moment  before  had  been  brooding  over  a  girl's 
face. 

"'Tis  some  time  now,"  began  Philip,  ingratiatingly,  "that 
I  have  been  fain  of  a  moment's  private  speech  with  you." 

"  Once  before  you  were  very  fain  of  such  speech  with  me," 
Jock  answered,  alert  and  dangerous.  "Sure,  you  have  not 
forgot  the  night  of  my  first  coming  hither,  when  you  promised 
Captain  Hetherington — " 

PhiUp  stopped  blinking.  "Promised  you!"  he  amended 
sharply.  "I  promised  to  aid  you,  Jock  Hetherington,  if 
you'd  hold  your  tongue.     And  you  didn't !" 

It  was  a  bold  lie,  but  Jock,  as  it  happened,  had  not  been 
born  the  day  before.  He  laughed  outright,  and  then,  not 
deigning  to  argue,  fell  to  whistling  softly  and  with  apparent 
imconcern  snapped  in  fragments  the  bit  of  stick  that  he  still 
held. 

Then  did  Philip  acknowledge  a  check  by  shifting  his  ground. 
"  Come,  we  can  waive  that  question,"  he  said  serenely.  "  For 
the  present,  sir,  believe  only  this,  that  I  would  help  you,  an 
you  would  suffer  me.    When  all's  said,  you're  kinsman  to 


SPRINGES  TO  CATCH  WOODCOCKS  167 

Captain  Hetherington,  he  that  was  of  old  my  friend,  and  for 
his  sake  I  would  gladly  set  you  on  the  way  to  freedom." 

Jock  looked  up,  smiling  in  a  way  that  made  Philip  blink 
the  faster.  "  In  brief,"  said  he,  "  you  would  be  rid  of  me.  Be 
honest,  good  sir,  if  it  lie  within  your  power." 

Philip  strove  for  the  echo  of  a  laugh.  "Yes,"  he  said, 
"  you've  hit  it  aright.  Well,  let  us  say  I  would  be  rid  of  you. 
You  need  ask  no  reasons  — " 

"I've  no  need  to,"  Jock  answered  contemptuously,  and 
turned  to  walk  away.  Next  moment  he  learned  the  unwisdom 
of  his  last  speech  and  the  eternal  unwisdom  of  underrating 
an  opponent. 

Driven  to  his  last  extremity,  Philip  stabbed  with  his  tongue. 
"You've  been  snug  in  the  counsels  of  my  sweet  cousin  Rafe, 
haven't  you?"  he  sneered.  "And  you  think  perhaps  that 
he  will  play  the  kind  elder  brother  after  he's  made  his  use  of 
you  ?  Tut,  tut !  You're  wide  o'  the  mark  in  that,  my  lad ! 
When  you've  served  Rafe's  purpose,  you  are  still  Lambert 
Wogan's  prisoner,  and  then  do  you  look  to  your  skin,  for 
you'll  find  that  my  cousin  Rafe  has  a  vengeance  short 
memory !" 

With  diabolic  inspiration  Philip  had  found  the  traitor  in 
Jock's  camp.  Alone  he  could  not  have  prevailed,  but  when 
he  joined  with  Jock's  own  reason,  he  bore  down  not  merely 
Jock's  courage  but  his  common  sense.  Unnerved  by  the  pres- 
entation of  his  own  most  cruel  doubts,  Jock  stood  hesitat- 
ing and  troubled,  and  while  he  hesitated,  Philip  pressed  his 
advantage. 

"Come!"  said  he,  in  his  former  masterful  tone.  "Which 
will  you  do?  Bide  here  on  the  chance  of  Rafe's  kindness, 
or  take  the  certainty  of  escape  that  I  can  give  you  ?  I  pur- 
pose to  bribe  the  master  of  one  of  the  fishing  craft,  here  on 
the  coast,  to  convey  you  safe  into  France.  What  say  you 
to  the  proffer?    Will  you  go?" 


168  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

For  ^ne  flashing  moment  Jock  felt  himself  dazzled  with  the 
blue  of  great  waters  that  the  words  conjured  up  and  almost 
beaten  from  his  footing  by  the  blast  of  the  free  wind  that 
seemed  to  sweep  over  him.  Then  to  his  salvation  he  had,  by 
old  practical  habit,  turned  all  his  thought  to  the  immediate 
obstacle  in  his  path  to  liberty.  "Well,"  he  said,  and  hesi- 
tated a  moment,  for  he  dreaded  to  ask  the  question.  "  Well  1 
What  of  the  promise  that  I  gave  to  Captain  Wogan,  that  I 
would  make  no  effort  to  escape?" 

Philip  snapped  his  fingers.  "What  of  it?"  he  queried, 
still  in  the  same  high  tone  by  which,  he  fondly  judged,  he  had 
gained  the  ascendency,  but  speaking  thus,  he  gave  the  touch 
too  much  that  set  the  whole  structure  toppling. 

Of  a  sudden  Jock  saw  with  clear  sight.  He  looked  at 
Philip  who  spoke  so  lightly  of  a  violated  faith,  and  realized 
that  the  man  who  urged  him  to  be  a  promise-breaker  could 
never  be  trusted  himself  to  keep  a  promise.  He  had  thrilled 
at  the  prospect  of  escape,  but  he  saw  it  now  the  scheme  of 
the  man  who  had  already  once  betrayed  him.  "  I  thank  you, 
no!"  he  said,  and  with  a  feeling  that  he  would  liefer  see  no 
more  of  Philip,  turned  away. 

"  So  'tis  no  more  than  your  parole  that  holds  you  from  free- 
dom?" Philip  asked. 

"No  more  than  that!"  Jock  answered  in  his  dryest  voice, 
and  walked  away,  yet  not  so  quickly  but  that  on  PhiUp's  face, 
where  he  held  there  should  have  been  only  bafflement,  he 
caught  the  flicker  of  a  thin-lipped  smile. 

Deep  in  perplexity,  Jock  paced  down  the  garden  walk  till 
he  came  to  the  old  stone  bench  where  he  had  once  seen  Blanche 
Mallory  sit.  There  he  seated  himself,  and  dug  his  heels  into 
the  mould,  while  he  tried  to  think  out  the  reason  of  Philip's 
surprising  offer  to  further  his  escape.  Clearly,  since  Philip 
did  not  love  him,  it  must  be  that  he  feared  him,  and  he  feared 
him,  Jock  decided,  because  he  was  the  living  witness  to  that 


SPRINGES  TO  CATCH  WOODCOCKS  169 

awkward  lie  by  which  the  whole  fabric  of  Philip's  intrigue 
might  be  unravelled. 

"  'Tis  in  the  very  air  to  what  end  Rafe  Heyroun  has  gone 
to  London,"  Jock  reasoned  out  the  matter.  "So  this  chest- 
nut-haired callymoocher  knows  that,  unless  he  wishes  to  have 
reputable  witnesses  tell  him  to  his  face  that  he  lied  when  he 
called  me  Captain  Hetherington,  he  must  send  me  whither 
they  cannot  come  to  identify  me.  Now  afore  me,  'tis  cleverly 
thought  of  him !" 

Eagerly  Jock  waited  to  see  if  the  chestnut-haired  Philip 
would  again  approach  him,  but  in  this  expectation  he  did  in- 
justice to  Philip's  discretion.  The  day  passed,  and  the  day 
that  followed  it,  and  never  once  by  look  or  gesture  did  Philip 
hint  that  he  had  spoken  so  much  as  a  word  in  private  to 
Jock  Hetherington.  Tantalized  by  this  careful  reserve,  an- 
gered at  the  man's  skilled  policy,  Jock  found  none  the  less 
that  he  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  alluring  prospect  of 
escape  that  had  been  flashed  before  his  eyes.  To  his  own 
indignation  he  realized  that  he  was  waiting,  hoping  for  the 
broaching  of  a  second  project  to  which  in  honor  he  might  be 
able  to  accede. 

Yet  for  all  his  tense  expectancy  Jock  was  amazed  at  the 
quarter  from  which  at  last  the  signal  came.  It  was  on  the 
second  day  after  his  interview  with  Philip,  a  Saturday,  that 
as  he  trudged  down  the  stair  from  the  roof  room,  on  the  stroke 
of  the  dinner  hour,  he  came  face  to  face  with  Blanche  Mallory, 
Gravely  he  stood  back  to  let  her  pass  as  he  had  done  at  all 
of  their  few  chance  encounters,  but  to  his  surprise  she  paused 
beside  him. 

"I  have  to  speak  to  you,"  she  murmured  with  downcast 
eyes.  "Will  you  come  this  afternoon  to  the  east  gallery? 
'Tis  remote.  None  will  spy  upon  us.  And  indeed  I  have 
that  to  say  which  concerns  you  nearly." 

Blanche  raised  her  eyes  then  and  let  them  do  their  full 


170  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

work,  but  he  would  say  no  more  than,  "  Your  servant  for  this 
courtesy  1"  and  with  no  firmer  pledge  she  had  to  content  her- 
self and  hurry  away. 

Of  a  truth  Jock  scarcely  knew  whether  or  not  to  keep  the 
appointment.  He  fully  expected  Blanche  to  propose  the 
scheme  of  escape  that  Philip  had  offered,  for  he  mistrusted 
that  she  and  Philip,  leagued  in  a  common  lie,  were  leagued 
in  the  purpose  to  be  rid  of  the  one  whose  presence  could 
most  damningly  refute  that  lie.  In  utter  disgust  at  the  two 
clumsy  conspirators,  he  half  resolved  to  keep  clear  of  them 
both,  and  in  this  prudent  resolution  spent  a  part  of  the 
afternoon  in  his  own  chamber. 

Naturally,  however,  he  thought  of  little  save  of  the  inter- 
view that  he  was  going  to  avoid,  and  on  the  sudden  he 
had  a  new  idea.  After  all,  was  he  not  rash  to  have  made 
so  sure  of  what  Blanche  had  to  say  ?  What  if  it  were  nothing 
to  do  with  Philip  and  escape?  What  if  she  had  some  news 
of  Althea  Lovewell?  The  thought  was  mere  madness,  as  he 
knew,  yet  he  dallied  with  it,  and  in  the  end,  almost  without 
conscious  resolve,  he  left  his  quarters,  and  down  a  stair  and 
along  a  twisting  passage  sought  the  door  of  the  east  gallery. 

As  he  laid  hand  on  the  latch  Jock  paused.  Within  the  gal- 
lery he  could  hear  the  soft  purr  of  a  wheel  and  a  sweet  voice 
that  wove  in  and  out  of  the  sound  a  strain  of  an  old  song :  — 

"  Sweet  England's  pride  is  gone, 
Welladay!  Welladay!" 

He  found  the  tune  pretty,  but  he  held  it  had  been  pret- 
tier, had  it  begun  before  his  step  had  sounded  in  the  lobby. 
With  cynical  enjoyment  he  pushed  open  the  door,  and 
standing  at  gaze  on  the  threshold,  took  in  the  scene  that 
had  been  prepared  for  his  delectation. 

The  gallery  was  long  and  low,  wainscotted  in  dark  oak, 
with  latticed  windows  set  with  lozenge-shaped  panes.    Now, 


SPRINGES  TO  CATCH  WOODCOCKS  171 

in  the  mid-afternoon,  the  shadows  were  chill  at  the  northern 
end,  but  through  the  southern  window  came  a  shaft  of  clear, 
strong  sunlight,  the  brighter  for  the  darkness  on  which  it 
trenched.  In  this  bath  of  strong  light,  with  the  glowing  dark 
wainscot  behind  her,  sat  Blanche  Mallory.  She  wore  a  gown 
of  deep  wine  color,  with  a  scarf  of  tiffany  disposed  about  her 
white  shoulders,  —  an  amazing  dress,  it  seemed  to  Jock,  in 
which  to  go  about  the  homely  task  of  flax  spinning,  but  most 
becoming  to  the  girl's  clear-skinned  and  dark-haired  comeli- 
ness. She  sat  in  an  admirable  pose  on  a  low  form,  with  her 
head  bent  above  her  task  and  her  white  hands  fluttering,  as 
she  plied  her  wheel,  and  all  the  while  she  sang. 

For  a  moment  Jock  studied  this  picture  of  industry,  and 
then  said  he,  "Very  pretty,  in  truth  I" 

At  his  voice  the  girl  looked  up,  all  confused  and  startled. 
"Oh,  it  is  you?"  she  cried. 

"The  same !"  said  he,  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"Ah!"  she  sighed.  "You  are  come  in  a  quarrelsome 
mood,  Mr.  Hetherington.  I  would  that  you  might  see  the 
folly  of  our  wrangling.  Surely,  we  aided  each  other  on  the 
night  when  you  quitted  Graystones.  And  we  may  aid  each 
other  again.  Come!"  She  smiled  with  a  sudden  friendli- 
ness that  was  beautiful  to  see.  "Sit,  and  listen  to  me, 
sir." 

She  had  pointed  to  a  stool  that  stood  at  a  little  distance, 
but  Jock,  ignoring  the  gesture,  strode  across  the  gallery  and 
sat  himself  beside  her  on  the  form.  "Speak!"  he  bade. 
"I'll  listen  to  what  you  will." 

In  the  face  of  his  cool  assurance  Blanche  dropped  her  futile 
semblance  of  displeasure.  Slowly  she  smiled  in  a  niore  ma- 
lign and  less  friendly,  yet,  he  felt,  more  natural  fashion.  "  And 
will  you  do  what  I  counsel?"  she  questioned,  leaning  a  little 
toward  him,  and  then,  with  much  play  of  eager  eyes  and  pretty, 
gesticulating  hands,  set  forth  a  plan  for  his  escape,  Phihp's 


172  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

plan,  though  the  name  of  Philip  was  scrupulously  left  un- 
mentioned. 

Jock  realized  that,  disguise  the  matter  as  he  would,  this 
was  what  he  had  expected  to  hear,  what  he  had  come  thither 
to  hear,  and  as  he  listened,  he  grew  more  and  more  angry 
with  himself  for  dallying  with  this  project.  Something  of 
this  anger  he  suffered  creep  into  his  mood  toward  Blanche 
herself,  who  had  sought  once  more  to  play  with  him,  and 
curtly  enough,  when  she  had  ended,  he  addressed  her.  "  Next 
time  bid  Philip  Heyroun  do  his  own  task,  and,  mistress,  be 
advised  yourself  and  do  not  again  seek  a  stranger  at  his 
bidding." 

Something  in  the  girl  flared  up  at  the  insinuation.  "I 
have  done  naught  at  his  bidding,"  she  said.  "'Tis  of  mine 
own  will  I  would  help  you  for  that  my  word  aforetime  did 
you  hurt,  for  that  — " 

Their  eyes  met  for  the  first  time,  and  then  suddenly,  using 
the  artifice  of  last  resort,  perhaps,  or,  it  might  be,  stung  to 
confusion  by  genuine  shame,  Blanche  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands  and  wept. 

"  Oh,  you  are  cruel  to  me ! "  she  said  in  a  choked  voice. 
"  Yoii  are  cruel  —  and  Philip  Heyroun  is  cruel.  Yes,  I  came 
to  you  because  he  durst  not.  Because  I  must.  Because  it 
was  the  price  he  named  by  which  I  bought  from  him  that 
which  I  longed  to  know.  In  mercy  why  did  you  not  tell  me  ? 
It  stood  so  near  my  heart !  Why  could  you  not  in  mere  pity 
tell  me  that  he  was  dead?" 

"That  who  was  dead?"  Jock  asked  more  gently,  half 
ashamed  before  the  girl's  tears. 

Her  head  rested  now  on  her  knees  and  her  shoulders  heaved 
with  her  sobbing.  "  Hetherington  —  your  kinsman.  He  is 
dead  —  the  man  I  —  Philip  told  me." 

With  grim  satisfaction  Jock  smiled,  for  he  saw  that  his 
interpretation  of  Philip's  behavior  was  the  true  one.    Philip's 


SPRINGES  TO  CATCH  WOODCOCKS  173 

pleasure  journey  had  been  upon  the  business  of  establishing 
the  death  of  Captain  Hetherington,  and  it  was  in  the  sure 
knowledge  that  this  most  damning  witness  against  him  was 
gone  that  Philip  now  was  acting.  So  long  as  the  Captain 
lived,  Jock  could  see  clearly  how  Philip  should  strain  every 
nerve  to  set  an  ignorant  substitute  in  the  Captain's  place,  and 
now  that  the  Captain  was  dead  and  the  substitute's  identity 
in  question,  he  could  see  with  equal  clearness  how  Philip 
should  wish  to  remove  that  substitute  beyond  the  reach  of 
identification. 

Up  and  down  the  page  Jock  read  Philip's  manoeuvres,  and 
he  read  the  same  purpose  in  the  artifices  of  the  girl,  his  tool. 
Yet,  because  the  girl  wept  in  what,  for  once,  seemed  honest 
distress,  he  half  repented  of  his  bearing  toward  her  and  half 
was  moved  to  pity  her.  "Come,  come!"  he  urged.  "Cry- 
ing will  not  amend  it.  I  pray  you,  mistress !  On  my 
soul,  I  had  not  made  my  choice  of  free  will  so  to  hurt 
you!" 

It  was  an  unconscious  token  of  his  estimate  of  Blanche, 
that  as  he  spoke  Jock  slipped  his  arm  about  her,  as  if  she 
were  but  a  kind  wench  of  the  camps  in  need  of  comfort. 
Next  moment,  remembering  himself,  he  would  have  drawn 
back,  but  the  girl,  acquiescent  in  his  instinctive  reading  of 
her,  relaxed  in  his  hold  and  sobbed  against  his  shoulder. 
With  a  grimace  at  his  simplicity  to  have  been  in  the  least 
moved  by  her  easy  tears,  Jock  still,  being  human,  held  her 
to  him.,  and  promptly  Blanche  began  to  press  her  supposed 
advantage. 

"You  pity  me!  Oh,  I  knew  you  must!"  she  sobbed,  and 
lifted  her  wet  eyes  to  his  face.  "  You  are  generous,  after  all. 
You  are  like  my  own  John  Hetherington." 

At  this  comparison  to  his  cousin  Jock  hardened. 

Blanche  saw  her  error,  and  instantly  dropped  her  head 
again  on   his   shoulder.     "I  know  not  what  I  say  J"  she 


174  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GKAYSTONES 

moaned.  "But  I  can  trust  you,  I  know  that  now.  You 
will  help  me.     You  will  go  away,  even  as  I  beg — " 

At  that  moment,  choked  short  in  her  weeping,  she  held 
breath  and  seemed  to  listen.  Warned  by  her  sudden  silence, 
Jock  hearkened  too,  and  heard  a  footstep  in  the  lobby  without 
and  the  movement  of  a  hand  on  the  latch. 

The  girl  lifted  her  face,  thin  and  sharp  and  foxlike  on  the 
sudden,  and  all  in  the  same  instant  flung  herself  back  from 
him  with  a  dreadful  shriek.  "  Help !  Help  me !  Oh,  Lam- 
bert!   Lambert!" 

Still  shrieking,  she  dropped  to  the  floor  at  Jock's  feet,  just 
as  the  door  was  dashed  open  and  Captain  Wogan,  in  the  ever 
grateful  guise  of  righteous  avenger,  burst  into  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THEY  THAT  TELL  NO  TALES 

The  glow  in  the  west  was  fading  and  in  the  roof  room  the 
shadows  were  thick  and  black,  when  at  last  Jock  lifted  his 
head  where  he  lay  upon  the  floor.  He  was  spent  with  help- 
less raging,  and  his  head  was  bruised,  and  his  arm  that  had 
been  wrenched  was  aching,  but  at  least,  he  reflected  with 
satisfaction,  he  had  not  been  led,  a  meek  and  unresisting 
Joseph,  to  his  prison.  He  had  set  his  mark  on  two  of  Wogan's 
troopers  and,  he  had  fond  hope,  on  Wogan  himself  in  the  red 
moments  after  they  had  burst  into  the  gallery. 

With  the  old  anger  stirring  him  to  the  soul,  Jock  recalled 
the  events  that  were  huddled  into  those  minutes.  Men,  the 
whole  household,  it  seemed  to  him,  had  poured  into  the  gal- 
lery, and  Blanche  had  shrieked  and  shrieked,  and  he  had  fought 
blindly  to  guard  his  own  head  until  by  sheer  press  of  numbers 
he  had  been  borne  to  the  floor.  There  he  had  lain,  struggling 
for  breath  under  the  hands  that  half  throttled  him,  while  afar 
off,  as  in  an  ugly  dream,  he  had  heard  Blanche,  sobbing  and 
laughing  with  hysteria,  pour  forth  her  shameless  story,  and 
heard  the  women  cry  out  upon  him  and  the  men  mutter 
savagely  of  what  should  be  his  punishment. 

They  had  haled  him  to  his  feet  at  last.  No  one  had  asked 
his  side  of  the  story.  Instead,  lessoned  by  the  deductions 
that  even  Rafe,  his  one-time  friend,  had  drawn  from  the  hap- 
penings in  the  barley  field  at  Draycote,  he  had  realized  that 
already  he  was  tried  and  condemned.     Because  he  was  of  the 

176 


176  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Cavalier  party,  every  soul  in  Graystones  believed  that  he 
was,  in  the  nature  of  things,  a  debauched  ruffian  and  was 
soberly  rejoiced  that  he  had  revealed  himself  in  his  true  colors. 

He  had  wasted  no  strength  in  useless  protests.  That,  at 
least,  he  could  recall  for  his  comfort.  He  had  looked  upon 
Wogan  and  upon  Blanche,  who  cowered,  sobbing  still,  in 
Wogan's  arms,  and  he  had  chosen  his  words  deliberately, 
"  Mistress,  you  played  that  trick  too  well  for  any  mere  novice." 

He  had  thought  that  perhaps  Wogan  would  kill  him  for 
that  speech,  and  he  had  held  that  were  a  better  fate  than 
to  suffer  the  manhandling  of  Wogan's  followers,  but  Wogan 
had  turned  his  back,  and  hushing  the  girl's  fresh  outcry  of 
hysteria,  had  signed  to  his  troopers  to  take  Jock  away.  They 
had  thrust  him  into  the  roof  room,  and  there  for  hours  he  had 
lain  on  the  floor  just  as  he  had  flung  himself,  and  now  it  was 
dark  and  he  was  outworn  and  his  head  ached. 

From  where  he  lay  he  could  see  the  oblong  of  the  narrow 
window,  framing  in  darkness  the  bluer  darkness  of  the  night, 
and  sharp  across  the  oblong  he  saw  the  black  line  of  a  single 
bar  that  had  been  screwed  into  place.  They  had  barred  his 
window.  They  had  locked  his  door.  They  had  taken  away 
his  every  chance  of  escape.  There  in  the  roof  room  he  must 
wait  helpless  till  Wogan  chose  to  deal  with  him,  and  Wogan, 
unquestioned,  nay,  on  such  provocation,  even  applauded, 
might  have  him  flogged  in  the  stable-court,  or  even,  as  had 
been  hinted,  have  his  ears  cropped  or  his  nostrils  slit,  a  muti- 
lation that  for  the  victim's  whole  lifetime  would  be  a  badge 
of  shame. 

"Passion  of  me,  but  I'll  balk  him  in  that!"  Jock  swore, 
and  drew  forth  the  clasp  knife  that  he  had  won  in  trade  from 
the  Draycote  ploughman.  Since  his  coming  to  Graystones 
he  had  kept  the  knife  in  his  pocket,  out  of  sight  and  suspi- 
cion, and  so,  as  he  was  believed  to  be  weaponless,  he  had 
escaped  being  searched.     "Ere  they  lay  hand  on  me,  'twill 


THEY  THAT  TELL  NO  TALES  177 

serve  sweetly  for  my  throat  or  another's,"  he  reflected  as  he 
tested  the  blade. 

Knife  in  hand,  he  dropped  down  again  with  his  head  on 
his  bent  arm,  and  thus  he  lay  moment  after  moment,  hour 
after  hour,  while  the  blue  oblong  of  the  window  brightened 
with  scattered  stars,  and  in  the  rooms  below  all  sounds  of  life 
grew  fainter  and  at  last  ceased.  It  must  have  been  hard  on 
midnight  when  he  heard  the  sound  for  which  he  had  braced 
himself,  the  sound  of  a  footstep  in  the  lobby  outside  his  door, 
and  then  the  cautious  creak  of  a  key  turned  in  the  lock.  He 
rose  to  his  feet,  and  setting  his  back  against  the  wall,  waited, 
with  knife  drawn,  for  the  coming  of  Captain  Wogan. 

He  saw  the  door  swing  slowly  ajar,  saw  a  dark  figure  slip 
through,  and  then,  in  the  darkness,  heard  a  guarded  voice 
whisper:  " Hetherington !  Are  you  waking?"  and  he  knew 
it  for  the  voice,  not  of  Wogan,  but  of  the  chestnut-haired 
Phihp. 

In  the  sudden  relief  Jock  started  forward,  ready  almost  to 
fall  upon  the  newcomer's  neck,  and  Philip  caught  his  arm 
and  drew  him  to  the  bed.  "Sit  down!"  he  bade,  in  his  old 
tone  of  mastery.  "I  am  your  friend  still  for  all  your  pesti- 
lence folly.  And  perchance  you  are  minded  to  try  my  plan 
of  escape,  now  that  you  are  released  of  your  parole." 

The  mockery  in  Philip's  tone  reached  Jock,  even  in  the 
mood  of  headlong  thankfulness  with  which  he  had  sprung 
to  greet  a  possible  deliverer.  In  sudden  enlightenment  he 
turned  on  the  man  beside  him.  "You  planned  it!"  he 
whispered  furiously.  "You  urged  that  jade  to  speak  with 
me.    You  sent  Wogan  to  take  us  together — " 

For  once  Philip  made  no  attempt  at  denial,  but  instead 
laughed  very  softly.  "Truth,  I  did!"  said  he.  "And  the 
Mallory  wench  and  our  honest  Captain  played  their  parts 
well,  you  must  confess,  for  folk  that  had  not  been  forewarned. 
And  now  that  your  door  is  locked  and  Wogan  vowing  ven- 


178  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

geance  upon  you,  you'll  agree  perhaps  that  you  are  released 
of  the  obligations  of  your  precious  parole,  and  look  more 
kindly  on  my  proffer  to  aid  your  escape.  What  say  you  to 
it?    Come!    I  cannot  dally  here  all  night." 

Jock  made  no  answer.  With  elbows  on  knees  and  his  ach- 
ing head  in  his  hands,  he  tried  to  think,  for  he  knew  well  that 
never  in  his  life  had  he  had  greater  need  of  clear  and  quick 
thought.  He  had  always  distrusted  Philip,  and  he  dis- 
trusted him  the  more  when  he  considered  his  share  in  the 
doings  of  that  afternoon,  but  still  the  uncertainty  of  escape 
with  Philip's  help  were  better  than  the  certainty  of  shame- 
ful punishment  or  death,  which  was  surely  his  if  he  stayed 
longer  at  Graystones.  With  much  the  same  desperate  reck- 
lessness with  which,  six  weeks  before,  he  had  flung  himself 
out  of  the  hands  of  the  guards  at  St.  Andrew's  into  the 
power  of  the  Heyrouns,  he  cast  himself  upon  the  kindness  of 
the  chestnut-haired  Philip. 

"Do  what  you  will  with  me,"  he  said.  "I  must  escape 
from  Graystones  and  I  cannot  escape  unhelped." 

"  Well  said ! "  Philip  complimented,  and  clapped  him  on 
the  shoulder. 

At  the  touch  Jock  flinched.  He  particularly  disrelished 
Philip  in  his  genial  moments. 

Unabashed,  Philip  unfolded  his  plan:  "Captain  Wogan  has 
ridden  to  Barbroke  and  he  will  not  return  thence  until  Mon- 
day, the  day  after  to-morrow.  That  gives  you  one  day  of 
respite  and  so  makes  to  our  advantage.  I  have  here  a  key 
to  your  door  which  I  had  wrought  to  this  purpose.  To-mor- 
row midnight  do  you  let  yourself  out  of  this  room  and  escape 
from  the  house  into  the  fields.     This  part  I  trust  to  you." 

"I  have  it  pat,"  Jock  answered,  with  rising  spirit.  "I've 
done  it  once  afore." 

"Go  eastward,"  Philip  continued,  "and  presently  you'll 
reach  the  highway  to  Clegden  —  a  village  nine  miles  up  the 


THEY  THAT  TELL  NO  TALES  179 

coast,  across  the  river  lUey.  Follow  the  highway  till  you 
come  to  a  ford,  and  there  turn  down  of  the  left  hand.  Sixty 
rods  upstream  you'll  find  a  hollow  beneath  the  bank  where 
you  shall  lie  close  till  nightfall.  I'll  set  food  there  for  you. 
Myself,  I  shall  ride  to-morrow  to  Clegden.  'Tis  the  village 
where  I  dwell,  and  I  give  out  that  I  go  thither  on  a  family 
concern,  but  in  truth  I  go  to  make  ready  for  your  embarka- 
tion into  France.  Toward  twilight  on  Monday  I  shall  return 
by  the  Clegden  road,  and  you  shall  meet  me  at  the  ford  whereof 
I  spoke.  I'll  have  money  for  you  and  a  brace  of  pistols  and 
some  last  counsels  touching  your  course  at  Clegden  village." 
He  paused.     "  Can  you  remember  all  ?  " 

"Right  as  a  gun  !"  Jock  nodded.  Once  and  twice  he  said 
over  his  instructions  till  he  had  them  perfect,  and  conning 
them  jealously,  he  saw  no  flaw  nor  place  for  a  trap.  "I'll 
not  fail  you,  sir,"  he  promised. 

"Good  lad!"  Philip  encouraged,  and  would  have  clapped 
him  on  the  shoulder  again,  if  Jock  had  not  warily  removed. 
Thereat  Philip  chuckled  comprehendingly  and  with  such  good 
night  stole  from  the  room  as  quietly  as  he  had  come. 

Jock,  for  his  part,  lay  down  on  the  truckle-bed,  with  the 
clasp  knife  and  the  key  to  the  door  in  his  pocket  and  ques- 
tioning thoughts  of  Philip  in  his  head.  At  least  he  was  re- 
lieved of  his  fear  lest  Wogan  come  next  moment  to  deal  with 
him,  but  he  was  so  wrought  upon  by  the  prospect  of  escape 
that  he  was  not  able  to  sleep  till  the  dawn  of  Sunday  was 
breaking. 

That  night,  in  the  dark  midhours,  Jock  stole  forth  for 
the  second  time  from  the  house  of  Graystones,  and  gained 
the  desolate  highway  that  led  to  Clegden.  Along  this  high- 
way he  trudged  beneath  the  setting  stars,  till  he  lost  the 
stars  in  a  tangle  of  dusky  wood,  and  in  the  thick  of  the  trees 
heard  a  rippling  sound  of  water,  by  which  he  judged  that  he 
had  reached  the  ford  that  was  his  landmark.     A  moment 


180  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

later  he  was  wading  upstream  under  the  low  branches,  and 
as  the  gray  light  that  runs  before  the  dawn  brightened  about 
him  he  spied  his  goal,  a  hollow,  almost  a  little  cave,  beneath 
the  bank.  Thankfully  he  stepped  to  land,  and  when  he 
found  in  a  dry  nook  the  food,  a  plenteous  share  of  bread 
and  beef,  that  had  been  promised  him,  he  felt  his  estimate 
of  Philip  rise. 

While  Jock  made  his  breakfast  he  studied  the  sky,  and 
noted  with  uneasiness  the  angry  glow  of  red  in  the  east.  .A 
storm  was  brewing,  he  read  the  signs,  and  before  the  long 
hours  of  the  morning  were  passed,  he  had  uncomfortable 
proof  of  his  skill  in  prophecy,  for  rain  began  to  fall.  At 
first  it  was  no  more  than  a  feeble  drizzle,  but  by  noon  it 
had  become  a  cold  and  steady  downfall  that  set  him  swing- 
ing his  arms  and  shifting  his  feet  for  warmth.  By  such  means 
he  endured  until  he  found  that  the  water  was  trickling  into 
his  shelter,  and  at  that  discovery,  though  it  yet  must  lack 
two  hours  of  the  time  appointed  for  his  meeting  with  Philip, 
he  quitted  the  hollow. 

Recklessly  he  went  searching  the  wood  for  a  dryer  shelter, 
and  glad  to  be  afoot  once  more,  wandered  on  until  he  real- 
ized that  he  was  almost  on  the  edge  of  the  highroad.  In  some 
haste  he  started  to  turn  back,  when  he  spied  the  very  hiding- 
place  that  he  had  sought,  a  little  natural  shelter  formed  be- 
tween a  low  rock,  two  young  trees,  and  the  fallen  limb  of  a 
larger  tree.  Once  beneath  it,  he  discovered  that  he  had  only 
to  raise  his  head  and  he  could  overlook  a  little  space  of 
road  on  the  hither  side  of  the  ford.  Safe  in  the  thought  that 
thus  he  should  be  able  to  see  Philip  the  instant  that  he  reached 
the  meeting-place,  he  settled  himself  to  wait. 

It  was  yet  some  little  time  to  twilight,  the  hour  that  Philip 
had  named,  when  Jock  caught  the  sound  of  hoof-beats  upon 
the  wet  road,  and  with  a  sudden  sense  of  his  imprudence  in 
venturing  so  near  the  highway,  crouched  low  while  he  waited 


THEY  THAT  TELL  NO  TALES  181 

for  the  rider  to  pass.  He  heard  the  slow  splashing  as  the 
horse  crossed  the  ford,  and  then  a  voice  that  he  knew  called 
to  the  beast  to  stand  still.  Cautiously  he  lifted  his  head, 
and  to  his  relief  saw  that  the  rider  was  the  chestnut-haired 
Philip.  On  first  impulse  Jock  started  to  rise  and  go  to  meet 
his  ally,  but  on  the  old  suspicious  instinct  of  which  he  now 
was  half  ashamed,  he  paused  for  a  moment  to  watch  him. 

Suspicious  though  he  was,  Jock  could  not  find  Philip's  con- 
duct extraordinary.  For  half  a  minute,  maybe,  Philip  sat  his 
steaming  horse  and  glanced  about  him,  then  he  swung  out  of 
the  saddle,  drew  his  cloak  closer  round  his  shoulders,  and 
thrusting  one  arm  through  the  bridle,  waited  yet  another 
little  space,  and  all  the  while,  albeit  he  marvelled  at  his  own 
distrust,  Jock,  in  his  hiding-place,  waited  too. 

At  last  Philip  turned  to  the  horse's  side,  and  taking  a  pistol 
from  the  holster,  looked  to  the  priming.  Jock's  heart  gave 
a  sudden  thump,  though  he  told  himself  that  it  was  no  more 
than  natural  that  a  man  should  look  well  to  his  arms.  But 
he  kept  his  eyes  glued  upon  Philip,  and  presently  he  saw  that, 
instead  of  returning  the  pistol  to  the  holster,  he  slipped  it 
beneath  his  cloak. 

Suddenly  Jock  heard  reechoing  in  his  ears  his  own  words 
to  Philip:  "In  brief,  you  would  be  rid  of  me."  Yet  in  his 
folly  he  had  not  thought  of  the  double  meaning  of  the  words, 
he  had  not  realized  that  there  were  surer  ways  to  silence  a 
dangerous  witness  than  to  send  him  into  France.  He  looked 
at  the  wet  gray  shafts  of  the  rain  and  the  dripping  wood  and, 
in  the  deserted  roadway,  at  the  solitary  figure  of  the  man 
with  the  pistol  beneath  his  cloak,  and  for  one  moment  he  felt 
his  heart  sink. 

Next  instant  Jock  felt  the  impulse  to  fight  surge  up  in 
him,  and  then  on  the  sudden  he  scoffed  at  both  his  fright 
and  his  anger.  Truth,  he  was  grown  fanciful  with  two  days 
of  soUtary  thought !    Why,  he  himself  in  wet  weather  would 


182  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

have  looked  to  the  priming  of  his  pistol  and  sheltered  it  from 
damp,  even  as  Philip  had  done.  Yet,  though  he  reasoned 
with  himself,  he  could  not  banish  his  suspicion.  Moment 
after  moment  he  lingered  in  his  covert,  watching,  waiting,  he 
scarcely  knew  for  what.  When  at  length  he  decided  to  ven- 
ture out,  he  crept  cautiously  from  his  hiding-place,  and  then 
as  he  strode  toward  the  highway,  made  a  great  stu-  in  the 
bushes,  as  if  he  were  approaching  for  the  first  time. 

With  entire  steadiness  Philip  turned  at  the  sound  of  Jock's 
coming,  and  as  he  stepped  into  the  roadway,  greeted  him: 
"  Well  met,  Hetherington !  In  truth,  you're  a  laggard  at  your 
rendezvous.  Here  I've  stood  waiting  for  you  these  four  hours. 
I'm  drenched,  man,  fair  drenched  to  the  bone." 

In  all  reason,  Philip's  attitude  and  his  headlong  words  were 
friendly  enough,  yet,  to  Jock's  lurking  suspicion,  there  was 
something  sinister  in  this  unwonted  affableness.  Three  paces 
from  Philip  he  halted  and  stood  eying  him. 

Philip  still  rattled  blithely  on:  "All's  well  at  Clegden. 
Your  fishing  master  weighs  anchor,  if  the  wind  favor,  at 
dawn  to-morrow.  I've  here  in  hand  ten  marks  wherewith 
you  may  line  your  pockets,  and  hark  ye,  Hetherington,  will 
you  do  me  the  kindness  to  tighten  that  scurvy  girth  that  has 
slipped  yet  again  ?  My  horse  is  restive  so  I  may  not  take  my 
hand  from  his  head." 

The  request  had  come  so  smothered  in  words  that,  without 
weighing  it  in  all  its  bearings,  Jock  stepped  forward  instinc- 
tively to  do  as  he  was  asked.  It  was  well  for  him  in  that 
moment  that  deep  within  his  being  his  suspicions  already 
were  astir.  As  he  bent  to  tighten  the  girth  he  cast  a  glance 
over  his  shoulder,  and  he  looked  just  in  time  to  see  Philip 
dash  back  his  cloak  and  swing  up  the  hand  that  held  the 
pistol. 

Jock  leaped  aside  and  in  the  movement  felt  the  rush  of 
the  bullet  that  grazed  his  cheek.    He  saw  the  road  and  the 


THEY  THAT  TELL  NO  TALES  183 

trees  and  the  very  sky  the  hue  of  blood,  and  in  that  blood- 
stained haze  he  sprang  upon  the  chestnut-haired  Philip.  He 
heard  afar  a  mad  clatter  of  hoofs,  as  the  horse  broke  away 
and  fled,  and  he  felt  within  his  hands  something  that  yielded, 
something  that  he  knew  for  Philip's  throat.  Vaguely  he  was 
aware  of  childish  blows  that  beat  down  upon  his  head,  and 
heeding  them  not  at  all,  he  tightened  the  grip  of  his  hands. 
Then  he  found  himself  in  the  road  with  a  struggling  body 
pinned  beneath  his  knees,  and  he  saw  amid  the  red  Philip's 
distorted  face,  and  he  heard  him  scream  aloud  for  mercy.  In 
answer  he  drove  his  clenched  fist  into  the  blood-smeared  face, 
and  struck  and  struck  again  till  he  made  the  cries  to  cease. 

While  Philip  lay  bleeding  and  unconscious,  Jock  fumbled 
through  his  pockets  and  he  found  but  five  shillings  and  odd 
pence.  The  ten  marks  for  his  use  had  been  a  lie,  then,  even 
as  had  been  Philip's  semblance  of  friendship,  even  as,  he 
doubted  not,  had  been  the  story  of  the  ship  at  Clegden. 
"  Still,  I  can't  go  back  to  Graystones,"  he  swiftly  reviewed 
his  case,  "  so  I  must  needs  go  forward.  Helped  or  unhelped, 
I'll  get  me  unto  Clegden  and  see  if  shipping  thence  is  to  be 
found." 

Before  he  started  on  his  journey,  however,  Jock  tied 
Philip,  hand  and  foot,  with  strips  that  he  cut  from  Philip's 
own  cloak,  and  he  picked  up  the  pistol,  dropped  in  the 
scuffle,  and  charged  it  afresh  with  Philip's  ball  and  powder. 
At  the  very  moment  while  Jock  stood,  pistol  in  hand,  Philip 
opened  his  eyes  and  looked  upon  him.  With  grim  satisfac- 
tion Jock  realized  that  Philip  saw  now  what  he  himself  had 
seen  and  trembled  at  only  a  few  minutes  before  —  a  threat- 
ening sky  and  a  dank  wood,  a  lonely  road,  and  a  man  with 
murder  in  his  look.  He  understood  Philip's  terror,  but  he 
did  not  understand  how  the  man,  made  in  a  man's  likeness, 
should  whimper  for  pity. 

"Only  loose  me,  Hetherington ! "  the  chestnut-haired  Philip 


184  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

whined.  "My  finger  slipped  on  the  trigger.  'Twas  by  acci- 
dent that  I  gave  fire,  I  swear  it !  I'm  ready  to  help  you 
to  escape.  I —  Man!"  His  voice  rose  piteous  and  shrill. 
"You  would  not  slay  me?" 

Jock  fingered  the  pistol.  "Dead  men  tell  no  tales,"  he 
said. 

At  that  ominous  phrase  Philip  struggled  to  rise,  the 
while  he  poured  out  fresh  pleadings.  "For  the  love  of 
God,  Hetherington !  I  cannot  die.  You  know  not.  I  can- 
not die  and  go  to  face  mine  uncle,  he  that  is  dead  — " 

"He  that  through  my  cousin's  deed  you  slew,"  Jock  an- 
swered, and  then,  an  apt  pupil  to  learn  the  methods  of  the 
Heyrouns,  he  cocked  the  pistol  and  bent  over  the  prostrate 
man.  "  Tell  me  what  you  did  with  the  deal  box,"  he  bade  in 
a  deadly  quiet  voice. 

Gulping  in  his  throat,  Philip  contrived  to  answer :  "  I  have 
it  not.  Your  cousin  had  the  box  and  the  later  will  of  the  two. 
He  would  not  yield  it  up  to  me  —  he  would  not  so  much  as 
let  me  look  thereon — " 

"  So  ?"  said  Jock.  "  And  the  earlier  will  —  what  have  you 
done  with  it?"  As  Philip  mumbled  his  lips  and  kept  silent, 
Jock  leaned  nearer  with  the  pistol.     "  Answer ! "  he  bade. 

Philip  writhed  where  he  lay,  but,  looking  into  the  muzzle 
of  the  pistol,  answered  perforce :  "  The  earlier  will  —  the  one 
that  gives  all  unto  me  —  'tis  hid,  there  at  Graystones,  It 
will  come  to  light  later,  when  these  suspicions  against  me  are 
set  at  rest  —  these  injurious  suspicions." 

Jock  laughed. 

"'Twould  have  come  to  light  in  such  fashion  that  none 
would  have  connected  me  with  the  finding  of  it,"  Philip  con- 
tinued to  disburden  himself,  with  piteous  eagerness  to  placate 
the  man  with  the  pistol.  "  But  that  took  time  —  and  a  sure 
man  to  help  me.  And  I  would  do  naught  till  I  could  discover 
what  has  come  of  that  other  will  —  the  later  will  that  may 


THEY  THAT  TELL  NO  TALES  186 

undo  me.  Captain  Hetherington  took  it.  He  took  it  and 
he  swore  that  I  should  pay  him  henceforth  such  moneys  as 
he  needed,  else  he  would  send  it  to  Inchcome.  He  played 
false.     As  God  sees  me,  'tis  the  truth  I  speak!" 

"  I  believe  you  I"  said  Jock.  "  It  sounds  uncommon  like  my 
cousin's  merry  mood  of  jesting."  For  an  instant  he  hesitated, 
considering  in  what  manner  this  information  was  likely  best 
to  serve  him,  and  then  he  had  made  up  his  mind.  "If 
Wogan  retakes  me,"  he  said  succinctly,  "  I  shall  tell  him  by 
whose  aid  I  came  forth  of  Graystones  yesternight  and  show 
him  the  key  to  my  door  in  witness  thereof,  and  I  shall  tell 
Martin  Heyroun  that  one  of  the  missing  wills  at  least  will  be 
found  in  your  possession.  So,  my  good  sir,  when  your  kins- 
men come  to  seek  and  succor  you,  I  do  counsel  you,  for  your 
credit's  sake,  to  tell  them  that  which  shall  keep  Wogan  off 
my  tracks." 

"  I  swear  to  do  it ! "  protested  Philip.  "  I'll  say  to  Wogan 
aught  that  you  wish."  I 

"Then  do  you  say  to  him,"  said  Jock,  "that  I  have  fled 
inland  —  inland,  mark  you,  as  you  value  your  credit,  and 
more  than  your  credit!"  With  the  words  on  his  lips,  he 
thrust  the  pistol  into  his  belt,  and  turning  from  Philip, 
headed  along  the  road  to  Ciegden  and  the  sea. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


IN  THE   PLACE   OF  DESOLATION 


At  Draycote  too  the  day  had  broken  gray  and  threatening, 
so  that  Isabel  Heyroun,  weatherwise  as  became  a  long- 
estabUshed  dweller  in  those  parts,  foretold  a  storm.  "  And  a 
shrewd  one,  too,  else  I  read  all  signs  amiss,"  she  prophesied. 
"  Do  but  mark  how  the  wind  rustles  in  the  leaves  of  the  pop- 
lars." For  the  moment  she  had  paused  in  her  tasks  and  she 
stood,  as  she  spoke,  at  the  open  window  of  the  dairy  that 
looked  across  the  flagged  yard  to  the  row  of  poplars  that  rose 
above  the  wall  of  the  stable-court. 

Close  beside  Isabel,  at  the  smooth-scoured  table,  Althea 
was  moulding  butter  into  firm  yellow  pats,  and  at  the  words 
she  looked  up  and  smiled.  "  'Tis  sweet  to  know  yourself  in 
snug  shelter  when  a  storm  is  brewing,"  she  said  shyly,  and 
she  meant  far  more  than  she  said.  With  all  her  heart  she 
was  grateful  for  these  days  of  peace  at  Draycote  and  for  the 
busthng,  brisk-tongued  kindness  of  her  hostess. 

Eager  to  serve  Isabel,  even  to  read  her  next  wish,  Althea 
kept  her  eyes  upon  her  as  she  worked,  and  presently  she 
saw  Isabel  bend  nearer  to  the  window,  and  then  turn,  half 
laughing,  half  pitiful.  "  Althea,"  said  Isabel,  "  'tis  that  kind 
soul  my  sister,  Susanna  Cooke,  come  a-visiting  from  Barbroke, 
and  as  at  most  times,  she  is  a-weeping." 

Scarcely  had  the  words  passed  Isabel's  lips  when  Susanna 
Cooke,  all  bespattered  with  mire  and  with  untidy  wisps  of 
hair  straggling  from  beneath  her  hood,  pushed   open  the 

186 


IN  THE  PLACE  OF  DESOLATION  187 

door  and  came  stumbling  into  the  cool  dimness  of  the  dairy. 
She  was  older  than  either  her  brother  Lambert  or  her  sister 
Isabel,  a  stout  woman  of  five  and  thirty,  with  a  lax  and  tremu- 
lous mouth.  Her  scared,  innocent  eyes  were  dim  with  tears, 
her  tremulous  mouth  twitched,  and  at  sight  of  her  sister  she 
burst  into  loud  sobbing. 

"Oh,  Bel!  Bel!"  she  wailed,  and  heedless  of  Althea's 
presence,  cast  herself  into  her  sister's  arms.  "You  must 
prevent  him !  You  have  a  nimble  wit !  Bethink  you  now  and 
speedily,  else  our  Lambert,  our  only  brother,  is  ruined  and 
undone.  His  banns  were  called  yesterday  in  the  church  at 
Barbroke.  He  is  to  be  wed  a  week  from  Sunday  —  he  is  to 
be  wed  to  that  —  to  that  cockatrice,  Blanche  Mallory!" 

In  a  spasm  of  weeping  Susanna  choked  and  grew  inco- 
herent, but  Isabel  shed  never  a  tear.  She  pushed  her  sister 
from  her,  and  untying  her  apron  with  a  jerk,  began  to  fold  it 
with  the  swift  deliberation  of  a  soldier  preparing  for  battle. 
"How  did  it  come  to  pass?"  she  asked  in  a  dangerous  voice. 

Mindful  of  Blanche's  frank  acknowledgment  of  her  matri- 
monial plans,  Althea  felt  that  she  could  have  answered  that 
question.  Discreetly,  however,  she  waited  for  Susanna's 
account,  while  she  felt  herself  torn  between  the  inclination 
to  pity  Wogan's  sisters  and  the  counter-inclination  to  rejoice 
that  Wogan,  Jock's  enemy,  should  have  fallen  headlong  into 
Blanche's  trap.  Then  Susanna  got  breath  and  spoke  again, 
and  ere  she  was  done  Althea  had  lost  all  inclination  to  make 
merry. 

Said  Susanna :  "  I  do  not  understand  —  but  Lambert  set  all 
forth  most  plausibly.  He  says  that  Blanche  is  innocent  of  all 
because  Hetherington  is  guilty.  'Twas  the  day  before  yester- 
day, the  Saturday,  that  Hetherington  —  'tis  not  for  me  to 
tell  more  than  that  he  so  far  mistook  that  he  thought  himself 
in  camp  again  and  her  sweet  mistress-ship  a  woman  of  the 
camps." 


188  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Isabel  spoke  in  a  terrible  voice,  "  In  that  he  was  not  so  far 
mistaken." 

Althea  spoke  never  a  word,  but  she  saw  the  dairy  walls 
recede  in  shadows.  She  leaned  against  the  table  lest  she 
fall,  while  at  a  great  distance,  it  seemed,  she  heard  Susanna, 
with  interrupting  sobs  and  hiccoughs,  ramble  on. 

"So  Blanche  told  all  to  Lambert,  showing  how  cruelly 
she  had  been  misjudged.  'Twas  for  the  sake  of  a  young 
maid  in  the  household,  one  Althea  Lovewell,  that  was  afore- 
time mad  with  love  for  Captain  Hetherington,  that  she  sought 
to  have  speech  with  him,  only  to  save  that  silly  child,  and 
she  durst  not  tell  the  whole  story  even  unto  Lambert,  partly 
for  that  she  would  not  betray  the  young  girl's  folly  and  partly 
from  shame,  for  that  the  Captain  presently  did  cast  his  loose 
affections  upon  her,  and  so — " 

Althea  began  to  laugh  and  swayed  where  she  stood  with 
her  laughter.  " Oh,  a  brave  tale ! "  she  cried.  "Pure,  spot- 
less Blanche,  and  this  light  jade,  Althea  Lovewell,  and  that 
evil  Captain  Hetherington,  —  it  rings  true,  does  it  not?" 
Then  somehow  she  found  herself  clutching  Isabel's  arm,  and 
she  heard  Susanna  weeping  still,  and  she  heard  her  own 
voice,  high  and  quavering.  "  Mistress  Heyroun !  It  is  a  lie 
—  you  know  it  is  a  lie !  Jock  was  never  the  man  to  deal 
thus  foully.    You  know  Jock  Hetherington." 

"I  had  no  need  to  know  Jock  to  know  that  Blanche  Mal- 
lory  lies,"  said  Isabel.  She  measured  her  words,  but  there 
was  neither  measure  nor  moderation  in  her  smouldering  eyes. 
"Have  done  with  your  wailing,  Susanna!  For  that  junt, 
Blanche  Mallory,  we  will  take  order  with  her.  We  will  break 
that  marriage.    You  shall  help  us,  Althea." 

"Yes,  yes!"  said  Althea,  and  she  saw  beyond  the  shad- 
ows that  had  dimmed  her  eyes  and  she  heard  her  voice  ring 
firm  again.  "Aught  in  this  world  I  will  do  that  may  clear 
Jock  of  such  a  shameful  charge." 


IN  THE  PLACE  OF  DESOLATION  189 

"We'll  ride  at  once  to  Graystones,"  Isabel  cut  her  short. 
"  You  shall  tell  Lambert  —  he  will  listen  to  you  —  that  Jock 
is  not  Captain  Hetherington,  that  Blanche  has  lied  to  him 
in  that,  and  you  shall  tell  him  the  mere  truth,  that  you  had 
naught  to  do  aforetime  with  the  Captain  —  that  it  was 
Blanche,  Blanche,  always  Blanche!" 

In  blank  astonishment  Althea  looked  at  the  speaker. 
Because  Isabel  was  older  than  she,  she  had  trusted  blindly 
that  Isabel  would  devise  some  way  to  save  Lambert  and  to 
clear  Jock,  and  now  she  stood  half  amazed,  half  pitiful,  at 
the  childishness  of  Isabel's  plan.  Girl  though  she  was,  she 
could  herself  see  far  more  clearly. 

"Oh,  this  will  not  avail!"  she  cried.  "I  have  said  that 
Jock  is  not  the  Captain,  and  they  will  not  believe  me.  And 
for  the  other  matter,  it  is  my  word  against  Blanche's,  and 
which  of  us  will  Captain  Wogan  believe  ?  He  will  swear  that 
I  am  but  lying  to  smirch  Blanche  and  to  shield  Hetherington 
because  he  is  my  lover.  He  will  believe  me  the  thing  of 
shame  that  Blanche  has  named  me.     He — " 

Then,  all  in  an  instant,  Isabel,  to  her  lasting  sorrow,  lost 
hold  upon  her  temper.  With  a  face  set  like  her  brother's, 
she  caught  Althea  by  the  shoulders  and  shook  her  savagely. 
"You  graceless  beggar  brat! "she  cried.  "You  could  save 
my  brother.  You  will  not  try.  For  your  foolish,  prudish 
whimsies  you  will  not  try  —  you  that  I  have  sheltered  — 
you  that  Rafe  has  befriended  — " 

Althea  drew  herself  up,  free  of  Isabel's  hands.  "I  shall 
ask  no  more  of  your  kindness,"  she  said,  white-lipped  and 
low-voiced,  and  in  the  silence  that  had  fallen,  while  even 
Susanna  stared,  too  terrified  to  weep,  passed  out  of  the 
dairy. 

It  took  Althea  but  an  instant  to  run  up  the  stairs  to  the 
chamber  that  she  had  shared  with  little  Eleanor,  to  make  a 
bundle  of  her  garments  and  to  don  her  cloak,  and  then,  with 


190  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

head  erect,  she  passed  out  of  the  farmhouse.  Deep  in  her 
heart,  for  all  her  proud  bearing,  she  realized  to  her  shame  that 
she  half  hoped  that  Isabel  might  intercept  her  with  an  apology 
that  she  could  take,  but,  experienced  in  the  Wogan  stubborn- 
ness to  maintain  an  error  once  made,  she  knew  that  that  hope 
was  vain.  Unchecked,  unhindered,  even  as  she  had  expected 
to  be,  she  crossed  the  dooryard  and  made  her  way  down  the 
lane  that  led  to  the  highroad  and  the  vast,  desolate  world  that 
lay  beyond. 

At  the  end  of  the  lane  Althea  paused  a  moment,  uncertain 
whither  to  turn.  Very  literally  she  stood  at  a  parting  of  the 
ways.  Behind  her  the  lane  led  back  to  Draycote.  Before 
her  the  highroad  ran  on  her  right  hand,  by  west  and  south,  to 
Graystones,  and  on  the  left  eastward,  to  the  village  of  Cleg- 
den.  She  could  not  return  to  Draycote,  and  she  would  not 
return  to  Graystones.  If  she  had  had  good  reason  for  quit- 
ting the  house,  she  had  equally  good  reason  now  for  staying 
away. 

"  If  I  could  help  Jock  Hetherington  by  going  thither,  'twere 
another  matter,"  she  reflected.  "But  I  cannot  help  him. 
Instead  I  were  more  like  to  do  him  hurt  —  even  as  I  did  at 
Draycote,"  she  added  with  a  catch  in  her  breath. 

So  she  stood  outcast,  shelterless,  while  she  felt  the  first  drops 
of  the  threatened  storm  touch  wetly  on  her  hands  and  face, 
and  then,  as  she  let  her  eyes  travel  along  the  road  that  led  to 
Glegden,  she  had  a  veritable  inspiration.  Near  that  village, 
she  remembered,  dwelt  one  of  her  few  acquaintances,  an  old 
woman,  Tamsine  Hendie  by  name,  who  long  ago  had  been 
nurse  to  Althea's  mother.  She  lived  now  in  a  wretched  hut 
on  an  islet  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  Illey,  with  her  son  Phineas, 
a  thriftless  ne'er-do-well  who  professed  to  be  a  fisherman. 
For  her  mother's  sake  Althea  had  sought  out  old  Tamsine, 
and  twice  had  spent  an  hour  with  her.  She  had  honestly 
liked  the  old  body,  but  she  had  not  liked  hulking  Phineaa 


IN  THE  PLACE  OF  DESOLATION  191 

Hendie.  On  his  account  she  had  ceased  her  visits  to  the 
islet,  but  now,  in  her  extremity,  she  was  ready  to  scoff  at  her 
instinctive  dishke  to  the  fellow  and  to  remember  only  his 
mother's  kindness  and  her  oft-repeated  desire  to  be  of  service. 

"  I  am  no  child  to  be  afeard  of  aught,"  she  concluded  boldly. 
"I'll  go  straightway  unto  Mother  Hendie.  'Tis  better  to  lie 
under  her  roof  than  to  lie  in  the  wet  grass.  And  to-morrow 
—  well,  if  I  can  think  of  naught  else,  I  can  at  least  go  out  to 
service  and  so  maintain  myself.  Sure,  I've  had  experience 
enough  in  serving  of  my  kinswomen!" 

Having  thus  made  up  her  mind,  Althea  set  forward  briskly 
on  her  walk  to  Clegden.  It  was  a  distance  of  seven  miles 
and  better,  and  toward  the  last  she  went  but  slowly,  for  she 
was  tired  and  the  way  was  heavy  with  mire  and  her  eyes  were 
blinded  with  rain.  Not  till  two  hours  past  noon  did  she 
reach  the  ford  on  the  river  Illey  which  she  must  cross  to  gain 
the  southern  shore,  along  which  ran  the  path  to  Mother  Hen- 
die's  islet. 

Near  the  ford  stood  a  group  of  mouldy  cottages,  the  only 
habitations  on  either  bank  from  that  point  to  the  sea,  and 
in  the  reeking  forecourt  of  one  of  them,  not  ten  paces  from 
the  ford,  lingered  a  man  who  touched  his  forelock  as  Althea 
hurried  by.  "Tide's  setting  strong,  mistress,"  he  said. 
"Ye'll  find  the  fording  safer  now  than  'twill  be  an  hour 
hence." 

Althea  thanked  him,  but  she  did  not  lay  to  heart  his  warn- 
ing. She  saw  the  Illey,  at  that  moment  a  shrunken  stream 
of  harmless  brown  water,  and  with  no  fear  of  it  she  picked  her 
way  across  the  stepping  stones,  and  turning  her  face  seaward, 
hurried  along  her  chosen  path. 

The  rain  was  now  falling  in  great  sheets,  and  Althea  felt 
the  chill  of  the  cold  drops  strike  through  her  cloak  to  her  very 
flesh.  She  tried  to  step  more  briskly,  but  her  shoes  were  cum- 
bered with  wet  clay  and  her  bundle  was  a  burden  to  her  cold 


192  THE  FAIR  MAID   OF  GRAYSTONES 

and  aching  hands.  Breathless  and  outworn,  she  halted  a 
moment,  and  putting  back  the  wet  hair  that  lashed  her  fore- 
head, looked  about  her.  Far  away  across  the  brown  flats 
and  the  widening  stream  of  brown  water,  she  could  just  dis- 
cern the  outlines  of  the  low-lying  northern  bank,  blurred  and 
obscured  by  the  rain,  and  on  the  southern  shore,  she  saw 
only  marshes  that  spread  away  as  far  as  eye  could  reach. 
Here  and  there  a  land-locked  pool  wrinkled  under  the  spat- 
ter of  the  rain,  but  except  for  such  sinister  movement,  she 
saw  no  sign  of  life. 

In  a  world  of  rain  and  desolation  Althea  hurried  on  once 
more,  waist-deep  in  dank  sedges,  until  after  a  long  time  she 
heard  beyond  the  grayness  that  masked  the  east  the  faint 
boom  of  the  great  sea.  Confident  that  she  must  be  near  to 
her  chosen  haven,  she  gathered  heart  to  run  a  few  paces  for- 
ward, and  a  moment  later  she  stood  at  the  margin  of  the  flats, 
and  looked,  and  was  dismayed.  Just  as  she  had  remembered 
it,  she  saw  the  little  islet  that  she  had  sought,  a  mere  ill- 
joined  heap  of  earth,  patched  with  gorse  and  fringed  with 
sedges,  and  at  its  highest  point  she  saw  the  outlines  of  the 
sagging  roof  of  Mother  Hendie's  weatherbeaten  hut  and  of 
the  ramshackle  lean-to  that  huddled  beneath  its  eaves,  but, 
not  as  she  had  remembered  the  scene,  she  saw  between 
herself  and  the  islet  a  stream  of  sullen  gray  water  that  was 
full  five  rods  across.  Here,  within  sound  of  the  sea,  the 
Illey  was  no  longer  a  river  but  an  estuary,  and  what  with 
the  incoming  tide  and  the  rising  wind,  an  estuary  that  the 
boldest  might  well  hesitate  to  ford. 

But,  as  it  chanced,  Althea,  who  was  by  birth  a  Heyroun  and 
a  Holcroft,  came  of  two  strains  of  blood  that  did  not  lack 
courage,  nor,  moreover,  obstinacy  to  carry  out  a  plan  once 
resolved  upon.  Amid  the  wash  of  the  foam-streaked  water 
she  could  make  out  the  brown  surfaces  of  the  stepping  stones 
that  formed  a  passage  to  the  islet,  and  she  decided  to  risk 


IN  THE  PLACE  OF  DESOLATION  193 

the  crossing.  She  knew  that  in  June  she  had  crossed  by 
those  stepping  stones,  even  at  flood-tide,  and,  inland  bred,  she 
did  not  know  the  difference  between  the  tides  of  sunny  June 
and  of  wind-lashed  October. 

In  this  resolution  she  tucked  up  her  gown,  and  grasping 
her  bundle  fast,  began  her  dangerous  passage.  For  a  little 
distance  she  found  the  way  easy,  upon  great,  dry  stones  that 
stood  near  together,  so  that  she  applauded  her  wisdom  in 
making  the  attempt.  At  the  fifth  stone,  however,  a  sudden 
upward  swell  of  the  incoming  tide  filled  her  shoes  with  icy 
water,  and  she  felt  the  chill  of  it  strike  to  her  heart.  All 
at  once  she  seemed,  to  her  startled  fancy,  to  be  walking 
through  the  midst  of  the  sea,  and  she  needed  all  her  reason 
to  assure  herself  that  indeed  the  stepping  stones  were  there, 
even  though  she  could  not  see  them,  half  buried  as  they  were 
beneath  the  rush  of  the  waters. 

A  second  wave,  foaming  round  her  ankles,  warned  her  to 
make  haste.  With  her  sodden  petticoat  and  her  heavy  cloak 
dragging  upon  her,  she  floundered  forward  from  stone  to  stone, 
half  blinded  with  the  rain  drops  that  were  thick  upon  her 
eyelashes,  half  deafened  with  the  surging  of  the  waves  about 
her.  She  was  ankle-deep  in  water,  she  was  knee-deep,  and 
she  felt  the  tug  of  the  waves,  resistless,  terrible  as  the  rushing 
current  in  a  mill-race,  and  then  she  thought  to  see  the  whole 
gray  surface  of  the  river  arch  upward,  like  the  undulation  of 
a  huge  snake.  She  had  space  neither  to  cry  out  nor  to 
struggle,  only  space  for  the  thought,  "  A  greater  wave  than 
any,  and  I  shall  surely  drown!"  Next  instant  she  heard 
the  crash  as  the  waters  closed  over  her  head.  She  felt 
herself  whirled  along  helpless,  beaten,  buffeted,  and  in  that 
age-long  flight  while  her  hands  clutched  wildly  and  closed  on 
emptiness,  her  heart  was  quiet,  for  she  saw  dear  and  remem- 
bered faces,  and  she  saw  Jock's  face,  and  she  wondered  in 
what  fashion  the  tidings  of  her  end  would  come  to  him. 


194  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Then,  to  her  amazement,  she  found  herself  alive.  Half 
drowned,  choked,  breathless,  she  clung  to  something  that 
was  firm,  and  she  saw  the  gray  waves  foaming  past  her.  Of 
a  sudden  she  was  afraid  to  die.  Piteously  she  looked  for 
succor,  and  then  she  saw  that  the  wave  that  had  swept  her 
from  the  stepping  stones  had  borne  her  upstream,  almost 
beyond  the  inmost  point  of  the  island,  yet,  by  a  caprice  of 
mercy,  had  carried  her  toward  the  island.  She  was  clinging 
to  the  rotten  shell  of  an  abandoned  boat  that  lay  within  a  few 
feet  of  the  shore,  and  on  the  shore  was  safety. 

Tremblingly  she  worked  her  way,  wading  breast-deep, 
alongside  the  boat  toward  the  shore.  Once  and  twice  she 
braced  herself  against  the  shock  of  the  piling  waves,  and  almost 
gave  herself  for  lost  as  she  felt  them  surge  to  her  very  lips, 
but  she  found  that  her  hold  on  the  boat  was  unslackened, 
and  she  found  too  that  the  water  through  which  she  waded 
was  growing  shallow.  She  waded  knee-deep,  she  waded 
ankle-deep,  and  then  at  last  she  heard  the  pebbles  on  the 
margin  rattle  beneath  her  foot. 

She  had  gained  the  shore,  and  in  blind  terror  of  the  danger 
that  was  past,  she  stumbled  inland  as  fast  as  her  feet  would 
bear  her.  As  she  climbed  the  hill  she  felt  the  gorse  bushes 
catch  at  her  petticoat,  and  she  shuddered  in  the  belief  that 
once  more  the  waves  were  dragging  her  back.  Breathless 
and  gasping,  she  stumbled  at  last  into  the  worn  pathway  that 
led  from  a  little  spring  to  the  hut,  and  she  found  comfort 
in  the  mere  act  of  setting  her  feet  where  human  feet  so  recently 
had  passed.  Surely,  at  Mother  Hendie's  hearth  she  would 
forget  the  gray  waves.  Almost  ready  to  laugh  at  her  peril 
now  that  help  was  so  near,  she  laid  her  hand  to  the  latch  of 
the  sagging  door  and  without  ceremony  entered  the  hut. 

Once  inside  the  door  she  paused  for  a  moment  and  stood 
blinking  till  she  could  accustom  her  eyes  to  the  dimness  of 
the  place.    Just  opposite  her  she  made  out,  on  the  ash-strewn 


IN  THE  PLACE  OF  DESOLATION  195 

hearth,  a  pale  glimmer  of  light  that  came  from  the  chimney 
above,  and  presently  she  made  out  too  the  shapes  of  a  pallet 
by  the  wall,  a  chest  in  a  far  corner,  a  low  table,  a  rude  stool 
or  two,  but  she  saw  no  sign  of  human  creature. 

"Mother  Hendie!"  she  spoke  hesitatingly,  and  then,  in 
sudden  alarm,  called  the  name  aloud.  For  answer  she  heard 
only  the  patter  of  the  rain  on  the  thatch  above  her  head. 

Hurriedly  she  crossed  the  little  room,  and  groping,  found 
the  door  to  the  lean-to,  and  opened  it  and  looked  in.  Better 
wonted  now  to  the  dim  light,  she  saw  a  bucking  tub,  and  a 
broken  form,  and  a  litter  of  tools,  and  odds  and  ends  of  wood, 
and  a  half-rotted  fish-net,  but  she  saw  no  sign  of  the  old 
woman  on  whose  kindness  she  had  relied. 

In  that  hour  it  seemed  to  Althea  that  the  earth  had  been 
struck  from  beneath  her  feet.  She  dragged  herself  to  the  cold 
hearth  where  she  had  looked  to  find  a  fire,  and  then  she  fell 
a-shivering  and  burst  into  passionate  sobs.  Partly  she  cried 
for  sheer  misery,  because  she  was  very  cold  and  wet,  and 
partly  for  bitter  disappointment,  because  she  must  go  uncom- 
forted  beneath  the  roof  where  she  had  looked  for  kindness, 
and  partly  too,  it  must  be  owned,  because  she  realized  now, 
a  little  thing,  yet  a  little  thing  that  added  to  the  rest  was  insup- 
portable, that  in  the  struggle  with  the  waves  she  had  lost  her 
bundle,  and  in  the  bundle  was  a  kerchief  that  had  been  her 
mother's. 

For  an  unmarked  time  she  sat  and  sobbed,  while  the  rain 
beat  steadily  upon  the  roof  and  now  and  again  a  drop  fell 
spattering  upon  the  hearth,  and  then  with  an  effort  of  will, 
for  at  each  movement  she  felt  her  wet  clothes  press  clammily 
against  her  body,  she  forced  herself  to  rise  and  go  to  the  chest 
by  the  wall.  Too  desperate  for  civility,  she  searched  the  chest 
through,  and  having  found  an  old,  worn  smock,  cast  off  her 
dripping  garments  and  put  it  upon  her.  All  a-shiver  still,  she 
crept  to  the  pallet,  and  to  her  joy  found  there  two  blankets 


196  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

and  a  coverlet.  In  these  she  wrapped  herself,  and  then  she 
lay  down  and  prayed  that  she  might  be  warm  again. 

Very  soon  she  drifted  into  a  state  that  was  neither  waking 
nor  sleeping.  She  heard,  now  near,  now  far,  the  beat  of  the 
rain  and  the  rattle  of  the  door  as  the  wind  rose  higher.  She 
saw  more  and  more  faintly  the  outlines  of  the  homely  objects 
in  the  room.  These  familiar  sounds  and  sights  became  the 
background  for  a  phantasmagoria  of  known  and  unknown 
shapes  that  flitted  to  and  fro  till  she  grew  weary  with  watch- 
ing their  movements.  Her  head  ached,  her  throat  ached. 
Feverishly  she  wished  that  the  shapes  might  pass  and  she 
be  left  in  peace. 

Of  a  sudden  Althea  found  that  the  first  part  of  her  wish  was 
granted.  The  shapes  had  passed  indeed,  and  once  more  she 
was  broad  awake.  How  long  it  was  since  she  had  entered 
the  hut,  she  knew  not,  but  she  knew  that  all  round  her  it  was 
pitchy  dark  and  the  wind  was  blowing  a  gale.  She  could 
feel  the  frail  hut  shake  in  the  blast.  She  was  sitting  up  in 
her  bed  and  she  was  icy  cold,  but  she  knew  that  this  was 
different  from  the  cold  that  came  from  drenched  garments. 
She  felt  this  coldness  grip  her  very  heart.  She  was  afraid — 
afraid  of  the  dark,  and  the  sound  of  the  wind,  and  the  loneli- 
ness of  that  little  islet,  which  in  her  mind's  eye  she  seemed 
to  see,  a  desolate  speck  in  the  midst  of  the  avid  gray  waves. 
For  this  fear  she  called  herself  a  coward,  and  trying  to  be 
brave  as  her  father  would  have  wished  her  to  be,  she  was  just 
lying  down  again,  when  in  a  lull  of  the  wind  she  heard  the 
door  rattle,  and  rattle,  as  she  knew,  beneath  the  touch  of  a 
hand.  In  that  instant  she  knew  what  it  was  that  had  chilled 
her  heart  with  fear. 

For  one  second  Althea  felt  the  impulse  to  cower  beneath 
her  coverings.  Indeed  she  felt  the  impulse  still,  and  she  only 
marvelled  to  find  that,  without  conscious  resolve,  she  had 
risen  softly  from  the  bed.     With  a  strange  sense  of  standing 


IN  THE  PLACE   OF  DESOLATION  197 

aloof  and  watching  her  own  scene  of  anguish,  she  knew  that 
she  had  snatched  up  the  coverlet  and  noiselessly  was  stealing 
across  the  icy  floor  of  trodden  clay  to  the  door  of  the  lean-to. 
She  pushed  the  door  ajar  just  as  she  heard  the  outer  door 
clash  open  beneath  the  intruder's  hand. 

Down  in  her  heart  she  knew  that  the  man  must  be  Phineas 
Hendie,  the  ne'er-do-well,  and  because  of  that  knowledge  she 
was  fleeing,  she  cared  not  whither.  Noiselessly,  for  very  life, 
she  closed  the  door  of  the  lean-to  behind  her  and  stole  across 
the  cumbered  space.  At  the  far  side  of  the  lean-to,  she  re- 
membered, was  a  window,  closed  with  a  shutter,  through 
which  she  hoped  to  escape  into  the  storm.  On  tiptoe  she 
groped  to  find  the  bar  that  held  the  shutter,  and  found  it 
after  long  striving,  and  could  not  stir  it  from  its  place. 

For  a  heartsick  moment  she  crouched  on  the  floor  beneath 
the  window.  In  the  main  room  of  the  hut  she  could  hear 
the  man  stumbling  about,  hurtling  against  stools  and  table, 
and  growling  inarticulately  as  he  did  so.  She  judged  him 
far  gone  in  drink,  and  in  the  terror  of  the  thought  pressed 
her  hands  to  her  mouth  to  hold  back  a  cry. 

Presently  she  noted  that  the  noise  grew  less  and  at  last 
died  altogether,  so  that  almost  she  dared  to  hope  that  the 
man  had  sunk  down  to  sleep,  when  suddenly,  straight  across 
the  darkness,  she  spied  a  rift  of  light.  It  shone,  she  realized, 
beneath  the  door  to  the  lean-to.  In  the  main  room  the 
man  had  lit  a  candle,  and  busied  in  that  task  had  fallen 
silent.  His  next  movement,  no  doubt,  since  he  was  sober, 
would  be  to  seek  firewood,  and  the  wood  was  stored  in  the 
lean-to. 

In  that  moment  of  realization  Althea  heard  again  footsteps 
crossing  the  main  room,  and  saw  the  crack  of  light  broaden. 
She  rose  and  stood  at  her  full  height,  with  the  coverlet  drawn 
about  her  arid  her  arms  crossed  upon  her  breast,  in  her  wonted 
gesture  in  extremity.     She  heard  the  door  go  back  with  a 


198  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

clang,  she  saw  the  glare  of  a  candle  that  wavered  in  the  gust 
of  the  bearer's  movement,  and  beneath  the  candle  she  saw 
the  man's  white  face  and  dripping  hair  and  alert  eyes. 

She  took  a  step  forward,  swaying  as  she  went.  "Oh,  I 
thank  God !"  she  said  in  a  voice  that  was  hardly  more  than 
a  whisper,  and  held  forth  both  her  trembling  hands.  "Oh, 
Jock  I    Jock  Hetherington  1" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

PASSAGE   PERILOUS 

When  Althea  was  laid  once  more  on  the  pallet  with  the 
blankets  heaped  about  her,  and  the  fire  was  blazing  high  on 
the  hearth,  Jock  searched  the  shelves  that  were  nailed  against 
the  wall,  till  he  found  meal  and  salt,  and  then  he  set  porridge 
to  cook.  Through  half-closed  eyelids  Althea  watched  him, 
while  she  felt  the  blessed  warmth  creep  to  her  chilled  body. 
In  the  pauses  of  the  wind  she  still  could  hear  the  thrumming 
of  rain  upon  the  thatched  roof,  and  at  times  she  felt  the  ram- 
shackle hut  shiver  in  the  sudden  gusts,  but  she  had  no  longer 
any  terror  of  the  dark  or  of  the  storm.  From  the  extremity 
of  peril  and  of  fright  she  had  come,  how,  she  scarcely  realized, 
to  safe  harborage,  and  without  question  she  yielded  herself  to 
the  sweet,  unwonted  sensation  of  being  cared  for  and  served. 

Presently  Jock  came  to  her  bedside  with  a  wooden  bowl 
full  of  the  smoking  porridge  and  bade  her  eat.  "'Tis  ven- 
geance hot,"  he  warned,  "but  'twill  surely  comfort  you." 

As  she  took  the  bowl  from  his  hands  she  looked  upon  him. 
Beneath  his  clinging,  half-dried  shirt,  she  could  see  the  clean 
outlines  of  his  compact  young  figure  and  the  swelling  muscles 
of  his  arms  and  shoulders,  and  she  realized  as  never  before 
the  strength  that  was  in  him.  Half  dubiously  she  let  her 
eyes  travel  to  his  face,  and  when  she  saw  the  unaccustomed 
kindness  that  had  softened  his  shrewd  eyes  and  relaxed  the 
set  line  of  his  lips,  she  felt  such  a  passion  of  gratitude  that 
he,  so  hard  and  strong,  should  bear  himself  gently  toward 

199 


200  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

her,  of  all  creatures,  that  she  wanted  but  little  of  adoring  him 
outright.  Terrified  lest  he  read  to  her  very  soul,  she  let  her 
eyes  fall,  and  then,  half  sick  and  overwrought  as  she  was,  she 
felt  the  tears  come. 

"  Ha'  done !"  said  Jock.  "  Else  you'll  make  a  fair  hand  at 
cooling  your  porridge,  kinswoman." 

At  that  Althea  contrived  to  laugh,  albeit  chokedly.  "In- 
deed, Jock,"  she  said,  "I'm  a  fool  and  to  spare,  for  already 
this  day  I've  had  salt  water  enough  to  content  me  to  the  end 
of  my  life." 

Then  while  she  made  pretence  of  eating,  she  talked,  and 
grew  the  steadier  as  she  heard  her  own  voice.  She  described 
her  desperate  struggle  to  reach  the  islet,  and  told  of  Mother 
Hendie  and  of  Phineas  and  how  she  had  come  thither  to 
seek  their  hospitality,  but  of  the  reason  for  her  expulsion 
from  Draycote  she  said  never  a  word.  "And  now,  in  your 
turn,"  she  bade,  "what  kind  chance  was  it  brought  you 
hither?" 

Thus  entreated,  Jock  sat  down  on  the  table  hard  by  the 
pallet,  and  very  briefly  told  her  that  he  had  made  shift  a 
second  time  to  escape  from  Graystones.  "I  am  going  now 
to  Clegden — or  wherever  else  Heaven  pleases !"  he  amended 
somewhat  bitterly,  "where  I  may  get  shipping  out  of  the 
kingdom,  but  I  had  not  taken  to  consideration  this  accursed 
river  Illey.  I  tried  to  cross  the  ford  in  the  darkness,  and  I 
wanted  but  little  of  walking  into  the  arms  of  two  honest 
cuddens  that  guarded  the  passage." 

"So  'twas  for  that  they  kept  their  watch,"  Althea  mur- 
mured. She  remembered  the  man  who  had  spoken  a  warning 
to  her  at  the  ford,  and  she  understood  now  why  he  had  waited 
there  in  the  drenching  rain. 

"I  could  not  turn  inland,"  Jock  continued,  "so  I  needs 
must  turn  seaward.  I  found  a  path  and  I  followed  it,  and 
in  time  I  came  to  some  stepping  stones.    I  could  see  naught 


PASSAGE  PERILOUS  201 

for  the  storm,  but  I  held  that  the  stepping  stones  should  lead 
to  the  northern  bank,  so  I  ventured."  After  a  moment  he 
added,  "  I  spoilt  the  most  of  my  powder,  and  that  was  worst 
of  all." 

Characteristically  he  had  not  mentioned  the  fact  that  he 
had  been  very  nearly  drowned  in  his  passage  to  the  islet,  but 
Althea  guessed  at  what  he  left  unsaid  and  shuddered  for  his 
peril.  "And  after  all  you  have  not  gained  the  northern 
bank,"  she  lamented,  "and  you  can  never  swim  the  northern 
channel.  'Tis  deeper  and  more  dangerous  by  far  than  the 
southern  channel  that  you  have  crossed.  You  are  stayed 
here  on  the  islet,  and  you  are  losing  time  —  oh !  such  pre- 
cious time !  You  must  press  on,  Jock,  at  once,  —  indeed  you 
must !  If  Lambert  Wogan  takes  you,  he  will  have  no  mercy 
on  you  now." 

She  bit  her  tongue  as  soon  as  she  had  let  the  words  slip, 
but  it  was  too  late,  for  Jock  had  heard  and  caught  her  mean- 
ing. "  So  the  story  has  reached  Draycote,"  he  said.  "  They 
told  you — " 

"They  told  me  the  false  tale  that  Mistress  Mallory  told," 
Althea  made  answer. 

Jock  bent  his  head,  fingering  the  edge  of  the  table  on  which 
he  sat.  "I  thank  you  much  for  that  word  'false,'"  he  said 
at  last  in  a  low  voice. 

Once  more  he  mended  the  fire,  and  then  he  came  again  to 
the  bed,  and  taking  the  bowl,  chided  Althea  because  she  had 
not  eaten  more  of  the  porridge. 

"Indeed  I  could  notl"  she  pleaded.  "My  throat  is  pain- 
ful when  I  swallow  —  and  I  am  not  a-hungered."  There  she 
put  forth  her  hand  timidly  and  laid  it  on  his  hand.  "You 
bear  in  mind  the  counsel  that  I  gave  ?  Oh,  Jock !  You  will 
go  hence  at  once  ?  You  will  escape  while  yet  there  may  be 
time?" 

He  laughed  outright.     "  Do  you  think  me  a  great  fish  that 


202  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

you  would  have  me  to  swim  farther?"  he  asked.  "Nay, 
Althea,  I've  no  mind  to  trust  myself  on  such  a  night  to  the 
mercies  of  a  river  that  I  do  not  know.  With  your  good 
leave,  I'll  shelter  me  here  till  morning  break  and  I  can  see 
my  path.  'Twas  with  that  purpose  that  I  first  broke  into 
this  hut." 

He  had  spoken  truthfully  when  he  said  that  he  dared  not 
attempt  to  swim  the  raging  Illey  in  the  darkness,  but  he  had 
not  spoken  the  entire  truth.  Besides  the  regard  for  his  own 
safety  that  held  him  on  the  island,  there  was  consideration 
for  the  girl.  He  knew  that  she  was  come  from  an  ordeal  of 
terror  and  cold  that  were  enough  to  sap  the  strength  of  any 
woman,  and  he  saw  in  her  flushed  cheeks  and  bright  eyes 
signs  that  he  dreaded  to  confess  were  signs  of  fever.  He 
could  not  well  press  on  and  leave  her  alone  in  that  desolate 
cottage,  until  he  was  sure,  beyond  all  doubt,  that  she  was  not 
going  to  be  sick  and,  in  her  sickness,  helpless. 

For  the  present  he  could  do  nothing  but  wait  and  see  how 
it  might  fare  with  her  after  a  few  hours'  sleep,  and  while  he 
waited,  by  old  habit,  he  did  those  things  that  were  immediate 
and  necessary.  He  ate  some  porridge,  he  mended  the  fire 
softly,  for  he  gathered  from  Althea's  breathing  that  at  last 
she  was  fallen  asleep  and  he  would  not  disturb  her.  When 
these  tasks  were  done,  he  took  up  his  wet  doublet,  which  he 
had  cast  off  when  he  first  had  entered  the  hut,  and  spread  it 
before  the  blaze  to  dry.  Then  it  was,  as  he  sat  tending  the 
fire,  that  his  eyes  fell  on  the  sodden  little  heap  of  Althea's 
wet  garments. 

With  none  save  practical  thoughts,  he  took  up  the  dripping 
smock  and  the  blue  underpetticoat  and  the  Httle  tawny- 
colored  gown,  and  wrung  the  water  from  them,  but  as  he 
spread  them  to  the  fire  he  found  that  the  current  of  his  thought 
was  altered.  They  were  such  little  clothes,  so  frail  and  girl- 
like.    He  fingered  the  tawny-colored  gown  lightly,  and  drew 


PASSAGE  PERILOUS  203 

back  his  hand  half  ashamed,  as  if  he  had  made  free  with 
Althea  herself. 

When  he  had  sat  down  again,  ready  at  need  to  tend  the 
fire,  he  kept  glancing  at  the  little  garments  laid  to  dry.  They 
were  so  like  the  girl.  She  was  such  a  piteous  slip  of  a  thing. 
He  felt  his  throat  grow  thick  as  he  remembered  how  lost  and 
little  and  forlorn  she  had  looked  when  he  first  had  spied  her, 
there  in  the  dark  of  the  lean-to.  Still  with  that  thickening 
in  the  throat,  he  recalled  how  she  had  come  forward  in  perfect 
trust,  with  arms  held  out  to  him  —  to  him  of  whom  they  had 
told  her  their  vile  stories. 

"  By  the  faith  of  man,  when  she  says  she  believes  me  honest 
she  must  mean  it!"  he  muttered. 

Step  by  step  he  followed  her  wanderings,  the  story  of  which 
she  had  told  him  so  courageously,  with  such  a  resolute  effort 
to  turn  all  to  a  jest.  In  his  mind's  eye  he  saw  her  lonely 
little  figure  plodding  along  the  rain-swept  path  by  the  river, 
venturing  timidly  upon  the  treacherous  stepping  stones,  and 
then,  lessoned  by  his  own  experience  of  the  deadly  peril  of 
that  passage,  he  felt  his  heart  die  within  him,  as  he  saw  her 
borne  from  her  feet  and  struggling  with  her  poor  strength 
against  that  mighty  tide. 

In  a  sudden  reek  of  terror  lest  his  imagining  were  true,  lest 
she  were  indeed  lost  forever  among  the  gray  waves,  he  rose 
and  went  to  the  pallet.  She  lay  as  he  had  left  her,  with  one 
hand  beneath  her  cheek  and  her  face  turned  toward  the  fire. 
She  breathed  a  little  hurriedly,  her  cheeks  were  ruddier  than 
their  wont,  but  for  the  moment  he  paid  small  heed  to  those 
warnings  of  danger.  Instead  he  noted  the  way  in  which  her 
half-dried  hair  fell  loosely  curling  about  her  shoulders  and, 
dark  in  the  shadows,  caught  a  tint  of  gold  from  the  firelight, 
and  he  noted  the  way  in  which  her  lashes  rested  in  a  dark  line 
upon  her  cheeks.  For  the  first  time,  in  all  the  times  that  he 
had  looked  upon  the  girl,  he  realized,  seeing  her  asleep,  the 


204  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

loveliness  of  her  smooth  brow  and  her  boyish,  well-turned 
chin  and  her  white  throat.  With  a  sudden  shiver  he  drew 
back.  Like  a  child  in  her  helplessness  and  weakness  she  had 
made  her  mute  appeal  for  his  protection,  but  in  that  moment 
he  laid  the  knowledge  to  heart  that  she  was  far  more  than 
child. 

Slowly  he  returned  to  his  place  by  the  fire.  There  were 
long  pauses  in  his  task  of  renewing  the  blaze,  and  in  such 
pauses,  while  he  listened  to  the  storm  that  beat  about  the 
hut,  he  thought  disjointedly  and,  reviewing  much  that  he 
had  planned  and  done  in  earlier  years,  looked  back,  as  it  were 
from  a  height,  and  saw  the  folly  of  it.  More  than  once  in  his 
life  he  had  looked  upon  a  woman.  No  better  than  his  fellows, 
he  had  bargained  for  a  kiss,  and  paid  the  price  and  taken  the 
goods,  and  gone  lightly  on  his  way.  But  always,  unlike  many 
of  his  fellows,  he  had  realized  that  the  woman  who  some  day 
should  be  his  wife  must  be  of  another  mould. 

Practically,  unsentimentally,  as  was  his  habit,  he  had  inven- 
toried the  virtues  that  that  unknown  woman  must  possess. 
Of  gentle  blood  she  must  be,  assuredly,  of  unsullied  reputa- 
tion, with  a  fair  face  and  a  modest  carriage,  and  —  on  that 
point  he  had  had  no  doubts !  —  with  a  dowry,  the  richer,  the 
better.  Since  he  had  himself  no  heritage  but  his  sword,  his 
wife,  he  reasoned  logically,  must  not  only  bring  money  for 
the  family  coffer,  but  the  very  coffer  in  which  to  stow  it. 
These  virtues,  he  realized,  were  many  to  require  of  one  woman, 
but  he  was  a  patient  man  and  nothing  loath  to  wait.  If  he 
married  at  twenty-eight  or  thirty,  that  were  early  enough, 
he  reckoned,  and  so  he  should  have  ample  time  in  which  to 
find  the  useful  paragon  that  he  sought. 

Now,  as  he  sat  by  the  fire  with  his  eyes  upon  Althea's  gown, 
he  saw  that  practical  scheme  of  marriage,  of  which  he  had 
been  so  proud,  as  the  idle  daydream  of  a  foolish  lad.  He  did 
not  want  that  comely,  virtuous  gentlewoman  with  the  com- 


PASSAGE  PERILOUS  206 

fortable  dowry.  He  wanted  Althea,  poor,  little,  outcast, 
penniless  Althea.  Struggling  to  reconcile  desire  with  trusted 
reason,  he  told  himself  that  he  turned  to  Althea  because  she 
was  kind  and  staunch-hearted,  and  full  of  trust  in  him,  and 
had  blue  eyes  and  a  flashing  smile,  and  at  that  point,  with  an 
impatient  outfling  of  the  hands,  he  bade  reason  go  hang.  He 
wanted  Althea  because  he  loved  her,  because,  he  realized  now, 
to  his  frank  surprise,  he  had  loved  her  since  the  moment  when 
from  his  prison  window  he  had  watched  her  at  work  in  the 
sunshine  of  the  Graystones  garden. 

He  trailed  away  into  dreams,  as  profitless  as  that  of  the 
dowried  gentlewoman  which  he  now  so  despised.  He  was 
young,  and  the  world  was  wide.  Somewhere,  somehow, 
he  must  make  Althea  his.  He  caught  breath  sharply.  Oh, 
what  if  that  day  were  come  I  If  this  were  his  own  roof  that 
sheltered  him,  and  the  girl  that  slept  yonder  were  indeed  his 
wife,  his  own,  his  own! 

On  the  hearth  a  log  broke  and  fell  apart  in  a  drift  of  white 
ashes,  and  at  the  sound  Jock  started,  recalled  to  the  world 
about  him.  By  the  heaviness  that  oppressed  him  he  judged 
that  it  must  be  the  odd  hour  between  night  and  morning,  a 
time  that  is  death  to  illusion.  He  knew  himself  now  for  what 
he  was,  a  penniless,  friendless  vagabond,  a  fugitive  prisoner 
with  every  man's  hand  against  him.  It  was  by  merest  chance 
that  he  could  hope  to  escape  recapture  and,  if  not  death  at 
Wogan's  hands,  a  term  of  servitude  in  Barbadoes  that  would 
be  limited  only  by  the  length  of  his  life.  If  he  did  contrive 
to  escape  by  a  miracle,  what  life  was  his  that  he  should  ask 
the  girl  he  loved  to  share  it?  Surely,  to  love  her  truly  were 
to  leave  her  free. 

At  that  moment  he  heard  Althea  speak  his  name.  He 
hesitated,  steadying  himself  with  effort,  and  then  went  slowly 
to  the  pallet.     "A  draught  of  water,"  she  begged. 

He  fetched  the  water,  but  she  took  only  a  sip.     "  My  throat 


206  THE  FAIB   MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

—  'tis  all  one  hurt,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him  piteously. 
Her  cheeks  were  glowing  and  her  eyes  were  bright. 

Presently,  after  restless  turning  in  her  bed,  she  slept  again, 
but  this  time  her  sleep  was  broken.  Bitterly  thankful  to  be 
thus  distracted  from  his  brooding,  Jock  listened  for  any  sound 
that  might  betray  her  need  of  him,  and  soon,  to  his  anxiety, 
heard  her  mutter  in  her  sleep.  He  offered  her  water,  the 
only  comfort  that  he  had  to  give,  but  she  shook  her  head,  and 
soon  was  moaning  and  tossing  as  before.  Her  moans  began 
to  shape  themselves  to  feverish  murmurs.  "  The  waves  !  Oh, 
the  gray  waves  all  about  me!"  she  cried  once;  and  again, 
"Oh,  help  me!  Help  me!"  He  knew  that  once  more  she 
struggled  for  life  in  the  rising  tide,  and  powerless  to  give  aid, 
he  could  only  sit  and  hope  that  peace  and  the  relief  of  quiet 
sleep  might  come  to  her  at  last. 

Slowly  the  wind-swept  dawning  broke,  and  a  first  dull 
gleam  of  light  crept  down  the  wide  chimney.  Jock  saw,  and, 
heavy-headed  with  long  musing  and  anxiety,  rose  up  to  cross 
the  hut  and  set  the  window  wide.  At  that  moment  from  the 
pallet  he  heard  Althea  moan  aloud :  "  The  waters !  Oh,  they 
gain  upon  me!"  and  in  the  vain  hope  that  he  might  be  of 
comfort,  he  went  to  her. 

He  found  her  half  risen  in  her  bed,  and  her  eyes  were  wide 
and  in  them  was  no  trace  of  recognition.  "  The  waters  I  The 
waters !"  she  moaned  still;  and  then  with  a  sudden  cry,  "Oh, 
father!    Father!" 

He  stood  dumbfounded  till  she  reached  forth  and  caught 
his  hand  and  laid  her  cheek  against  it.  "  Daddy,  dear ! 
You've  been  long!"  she  whispered. 

Then  he  knew  that  in  delirium  she  mistook  him  for  her 
father,  that  long-dead  Sam  Lovewell,  and  at  the  thought  he 
stood  afraid  and  half  ashamed.  "  Althea  I  Don't  you  know 
me?"  he  urged. 

She  lifted  her  burning  face.  "Kiss  me!"  she  murmured, 
"Kiss  your  lass]" 


PASSAGE  PERILOUS  207 

He  hesitated.  So  nearly  did  her  pleading  run  with  the 
desire  that  in  the  watches  of  the  night  he  had  bitted  and 
bridled,  that  for  a  moment,  even  to  give  her  ease,  he  dared 
not  comply.  Then  "God  forgive  me!"  he  muttered,  and 
bent,  shamefaced  yet  eager,  and  kissed  her  forehead. 

She  leaned,  trusting  and  secure,  against  the  arm  that  he 
had  slipped  about  her.  With  a  sudden  clenching  of  the  teeth, 
he  sat  himself  down  on  the  pallet,  and  lifting  her,  in  her  blan- 
kets, pillowed  her  head  upon  his  shoulder.  "Have  no  fear, 
little  lass,"  he  said.  "'Tis  your  father  holds  you  now,  in 
truth,  and  you're  safe  —  safe!" 

Several  times  yet  she  stirred;  once  she  murmured  aloud: 
"The  waves  !  Keep  me  from  them  !"  but  at  last,  better  than 
he  had  dared  to  hope,  she  relaxed  in  his  arms  and  slept  quietly. 
Minute  after  minute,  hour  after  hour,  he  sat  and  held  her, 
while  he  watched  the  gray  light  that  came  stronger  through 
the  crack  of  the  shuttered  window,  and  listened  to  the  patter 
of  rain  on  the  roof  that  dwindled  and  at  last  ceased.  He  felt 
the  pain  that  shot  through  his  arm  that  supported  her  weight, 
and  then  he  sensed  that  the  arm  was  numb,  that  all  one  side 
of  his  body  was  numb,  and  in  the  torture  of  his  cramped  posi- 
tion he  knit  his  brows  and  clenched  his  free  hand.  But  he 
could  hear  that  the  girl  breathed  regularly  now,  and  when, 
half  deprecatingly,  he  glanced  at  her  face,  he  saw  that  the 
flush  was  fading  from  her  cheeks. 

The  fire  on  the  hearth  died  down,  but  he  would  not  risk 
waking  the  girl  by  rising  to  rekindle  it.  He  knew  that  she 
was  warmly  wrapped,  and  for  himself,  when  the  room  grew 
cold  he  shivered  and  endured,  until  on  the  hearth  he  saw  the 
gleam  of  light  that  was  his  clock  begin  to  fade.  Mid-after- 
noon was  come,  and  for  hours  he  had  held  the  girl,  and  at  last 
he  found  that  the  strength  was  not  in  him  to  hold  her  longer. 
Gently,  with  all  the  craft  that  was  in  his  outworn  body,  he 
slipped  his  numbed  arm  from  about  her  and  eased  her  down 


208  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

into  the  bed  with  his  other  hand.  He  rose  from  his  place 
beside  her,  yet  for  an  instant  he  paused,  with  eyes  upon  her 
face,  Hke  a  white  flower  in  the  shadow  of  her  disordered  hair, 
and  then,  weary  and  exhausted,  he  let  the  devil  take  the  upper 
hand. 

"  T'other  time  was  for  your  father,  my  own  dear ! "  he  whis- 
pered. "This  time  'tis  for  myself,  and  all  I'm  ever  like  to 
have!"  He  bent  to  the  girl's  lips,  and  he  saw  how  easily 
she  slept  in  her  trust  of  him,  the  trust  for  which  he  had  been 
grateful,  and,  red  and  shamed  and  sick  at  heart  for  his  sorry 
self,  he  stood  erect  again. 

At  that  moment,  without  warning,  Althea  opened  her  eyes, 
and  her  own  soul  looked  from  them.  She  smiled  weakly  up 
at  him  where  she  lay.  "  Why,  Jock ! "  said  she.  "  I've  surely 
slept." 

"  Ay,"  he  said  huskily,  and  in  his  heart  gave  humble  thanks 
that,  by  a  greater  boon  than  he  deserved,  she  had  not  waked 
an  instant  earlier. 

"  At  first  I  had  troubled  dreams,"  she  went  on,  "  but  at  the 
last  —  oh !  my  sleep  has  been  sweet  and  I  have  had  none  but 
good  dreams." 

From  the  depth  of  his  heart  he  answered,  "  I  thank  God  for 
thatl" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TWO  AND  A  BARGAIN 

In  the  wind-driven  dawn  of  the  next  morning  Jock  left 
Althea  asleep,  and  for  the  first  time  went  forth  to  look  about 
him.  With  satisfaction  he  scanned  the  swollen  waters  of 
the  Illey  where  no  craft  was  likely  to  venture,  and  the  low, 
marshy  banks  of  the  river  where  no  sign  of  life  was  visible, 
and  the  harried  sky  of  ink-dashed  gray,  in  itself  a  menace 
sufficient  to  keep  all  prowlers  within  doors.  Up  to  that 
moment  he  had  feared  lest  the  smoke  from  the  hut  should 
betray  to  some  loiterer  the  presence  of  unlawful  tenants 
upon  the  islet,  but  now  he  was  rid  of  that  fear.  In  such 
weather  there  was  small  likelihood  of  anyone's  strolling 
along  the  river  paths,  and  he  could  count  on  at  least  a  few 
hours  of  security  in  which  to  plan  what  was  next  to  do  for 
himself  and  for  Althea. 

Through  the  drenched  gorse  and  beaten  sedges  he  made  his 
way  down  to  the  shore,  where  a  little  space  of  sand  and  of 
foot-worn  grasses  showed  that  here  the  fording  place  and  the 
stepping  stones  began.  He  knew  it  to  be  the  hour  of  the  ebb- 
tide, when  in  the  nature  of  things  he  should  find  the  passage 
to  the  mainland  easiest,  but  he  saw  the  waves  swirling 
through  the  channel  and  he  could  discover  no  sign  of  the 
stepping  stones.  Patiently  he  sought  them,  wading  to  and 
fro,  hip-deep  sometimes  in  the  strong  current,  and  he  sought 
in  vain.  By  the  violence  of  wind  and  water  the  very  bed 
p  209 


210  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

of  the  river  had  been  altered  and  the  fording  place  blotted 
out.  As  far  as  he  could  discover,  he  and  Althea  were  hope- 
lessly cut  off  from  the  mainland. 

When  at  last  he  returned,  chilled  and  shivering,  to  the 
shore,  he  lingered  moment  after  moment,  under  pretext  of 
pacing  up  and  down  to  warm  himself.  In  truth,  he  dreaded 
to  go  back  to  the  hut  and  face  Althea,  while  he  was  bur- 
dened with  the  weight  of  this  evnl  discovery  and,  as  yet,  saw 
no  way  of  relief.  Had  he  been  alone,  he  had  found  all  easy. 
Without  further  stay  he  would  have  tried  to  swim  the  north- 
ern channel  of  the  Illey.  He  cheerfully  admitted  that  there- 
by he  should  have  run  a  fair  chance  of  drowning,  but  quite 
honestly  he  would  have  preferred  to  drown  rather  than  to 
take  the  risk  —  a  risk  that  hourly  grew  greater  —  of  being 
recaptured  by  Captain  Wogan. 

But  now  that  he  had  Althea  to  care  for,  Jock  scarcely  knew 
what  to  do.  He  could  not  convey  her  across  a  channel  that 
he  had  no  more  than  an  even  chance  of  crossing  alone  and 
unencumbered.  He  could  not  leave  her  behind,  sick  and 
alone  in  the  deserted  hut,  with  the  risk  that  no  one  would 
come  thither  and  she  would  perish,  helpless  and  forsaken,  or 
with  the  worse  risk  that  Phineas  Hendie,  the  villainous  ne'er- 
do-well,  would  come  thither  without  his  mother.  He  could 
not,  on  the  other  hand,  remain  himself  with  Althea.  That 
were  to  court  in  longer  or  shorter  time  discovery,  and  dis- 
covery meant  that  Althea  would  go  beggared  of  reputation 
to  the  end  of  her  days  and  that  he  would  be  delivered  over 
to  Wogan,  the  fate  against  which  every  fibre  of  his  soul  and 
body  cried  aloud. 

He  had  decided  nothing,  he  could  see  no  way  to  a  decision, 
but  he  knew  that  some  time  had  passed  since  he  had  left  Althea 
and  he  dared  stay  no  longer  from  her.  Heavily  he  climbed 
the  path  to  the  hut,  and  after  a  last  glance  at  the  vacant 
river  and  the  deserted  shores,  pushed  open  the  door  and  en- 


TWO  AND  A  BARGAIN  2H 

tered.  For  an  instant  he  blinked  in  the  dimness  of  the  room, 
and  then  he  was  aware  of  Althea's  face,  white  and  tense,  and 
of  her  eyes  that  sought  his.  She  was  sitting  up  in  her  bed, 
and  her  arms  were  rigidly  crossed  upon  her  breast. 

"Oh!"  she  cried  in  a  voice  of  hard  sobbing  that  startled 
him.  "  Are  you  come  back  ?  Jock !  Are  you  come  back,  in- 
deed ?  I  woke.  You  were  gone.  I  thought  —  I  thought  —  " 
She  stopped  there,  and  bending  her  head,  fought  silently  for 
self-control. 

In  that  moment  Jock  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief,  for  he 
knew  that  his  decision  at  last  was  made  for  him.  Almost 
light-heartedly  he  went  to  the  pallet  and  bade  Althea  lie 
down  and  rest  quiet  and  have  no  fear.  "Surely,  I  shall  not 
go  hence  while  you  have  need  of  me,"  he  promised. 

Now  that  he  had  made  his  decision,  he  went  without 
further  talk  about  the  homely,  necessary  task  of  cooking 
breakfast.  He  could  find  only  a  small  store  of  meal  and  that 
little  he  used  in  making  Althea's  porridge.  For  himself,  he 
had  unearthed  a  hunch  of  bread,  hard  and  somewhat  mouldy, 
but  at  the  siege  of  Colchester  he  had  learned  not  to  be  over- 
dainty  in  the  matter  of  diet. 

When  they  both  had  eaten,  Jock  set  the  room  to  rights,  — 
not  that  he  hankered  for  household  tasks,  but  he  felt  that 
Althea,  womanlike,  was  worried  by  the  disorder  about  her. 
While  he  worked  he  talked  to  her,  foolishly  and  jestingly,  in 
much  the  same  tone  that  he  had  used  at  Draycote.  Partly 
he  wanted  to  win  her  to  laugh  and  give  over  her  anxiety, 
and  partly  he  was  fain,  in  the  desperate  pass  to  which  he 
now  had  pledged  himself,  to  snatch  what  comfort  he  could, 
even  on  the  brink  of  disaster.  At  first  he  moved  Althea  to 
reply  in  kind,  with  the  ghost  of  the  old  quick  smile  upon  her 
white  face,  but  after  a  time  he  realized  that,  though  her 
eyes  followed  him  always,  her  thoughts  were  straying,  and 
then  at  last  she  spoke  seriously. 


212  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

"Nay,  Jock,  no  more  of  words.  We  must  plan  soberly. 
You  see,  since  I  have  eaten,  I  feel  myself  stronger.  Indeed, 
I  am  well  recovered.  You  can  see  that  I  am !"  she  pleaded 
to  his  impassive  face.  "And  now,  Jock,  this  very  hour  you 
must  go  hence." 

Much  as  he  had  done  two  nights  btfore,  when  he  had 
braced  himself  against  the  waves  that  fought  to  hurl  him 
from  the  stepping  stones,  Jock  braced  himself  now.  Stub- 
bornly he  held  to  the  dubious,  narrow  way  that,  all  in  an 
instant,  he  had  resolved  to  follow,  while  round  him  beat  and 
broke  the  torrent  of  the  girl's  arguments  and  pleadings.  He 
did  not  find  it  easy  to  stand  firm,  for  the  girl  was  no  milksop 
to  waste  herself  in  futile  tears,  and  her  reasoning,  the  reason- 
ing that  an  hour  before  had  been  his  own,  had  power  to  dis- 
turb him.  He  was  no  paladin  to  scorn  the  prospect  of  bodily 
hurt,  nor  was  he  a  fool  to  believe  that  Wogan,  when  he  should 
overtake  him,  would  be  likely  to  clap  him  on  the  shoulder 
and  cry  quits.  When  Althea  urged  him  go  for  his  own 
safety's  sake,  he  felt  a  coward  something  within  him  leap  to 
assent,  and  angered  at  that  coward  self,  he  crushed  it  sav- 
agely. 

"No  more  of  that,  Althea!"  he  said  with  a  sternness  that 
struck  her  dumb.  "Come  what  may,  I  stay  here  upon  this 
island." 

Soon  she  was  back  to  the  assault  on  another,  surer  line. 
He  must  go,  then,  for  her  sake.  He  must  not  be  taken  there. 
Surely  he  could  see ! 

Yes,  he  saw  so  clearly  that  for  a  moment  he  stood  perplexed, 
but  then  he  saw  again,  not  the  picture  of  her  bitter  shaming 
that  she  had  faintly  limned,  but  that  other  vision  that  afore- 
time had  decided  him  —  the  vision  of  a  pale  little  girl  with 
fever-bright  eyes,  lying  in  an  empty  hut  that  was  cold  with 
the  chill  of  the  grave,  calling  for  food  when  there  was  no  one 
to  hear,  calling  for  water  when  there  was  no  one  to  set  a  cup 


TWO  AND  A  BARGAIN  213 

to  her  lips,  meeting  the  terror  of  death  long  drawn  out,  and 
meeting  it  alone  and  uncomforted. 

"Peace,  peace!"  said  he.  "I  cannot  go  and  leave  you, 
and  there's  an  end  on't !" 

She  looked  at  him  in  the  dim  light  of  the  darkened  room,  and 
the  light  was  not  so  dim  nor  he  so  little  skilled  in  the  reading 
of  her  face  but  that  he  marked  the  flame  of  joy  that  bea- 
coned in  her  eyes.  That  he  remembered,  even  as  he  remem- 
bered the  piteous  thanksgiving  in  her  worn  young  face  at  that 
earlier  moment  when  she  had  seen  him  returning,  and  to  those 
memories  he  held  firmly  in  the  hard  minutes  that  followed. 
Hard  minutes  they  were  indeed,  for  the  girl,  weak  and  weary 
with  sickness,  broke  down  and  wept  piteously,  begging  him 
to  leave  her,  vowing  that  she  would  rather  die  than  bring 
death  upon  him,  and  so  honestly  did  she  plead  that  he  would 
have  gone  near  to  yielding,  had  he  not  known  that,  so  deep 
within  her  heart  that  she  was  herself  scarce  conscious  of  the 
voice,  her  truest  self  was  praying  him  to  stay. 

Not  till  afternoon  did  the  warfare  of  their  two  wills  have 
an  end,  and  then  the  girl  slept,  utterly  forspent.  Once  and 
twice  in  her  sleep  she  sobbed  aloud,  and  at  the  sound  Jock 
reproached  himself,  wondering  if  he  had  done  well  to  resist 
her,  but  when  at  last  her  eyes  opened  and  instantly  sought 
him,  where  he  sat  upon  the  hearth,  he  told  himself  that  he 
had  done  well.  Between  them  there  was  now  peace,  and  the 
twilight  hour  of  that  day,  when  he  sat  by  her  and  they  talked 
together  for  the  first  time  as  something  nearer  than  comrades, 
remained  with  him  always  as  a  blessed  memory. 

Next  morning  Jock  woke  where  he  lay  along  the  hearth, 
and  sat  up  in  vague  wonder  as  to  what  had  brought  him  the 
quiet  sense  of  peace  that  was  upon  him.  He  could  hear 
Althea's  steady,  soft  breathing,  and  on  the  hearth  he  glimpsed 
a  touch  of  brighter  light  that  hinted  that  at  last  the  sun  was 
shining.    He  realized  too  that  the  hut  no  longer  shivered  in 


214  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

the  great  gusts  of  the  wind.  For  quiet  air  and  sunUght  and 
Althea,  he  found  himself  giving  thanks,  and  then  he  smiled, 
not  ungently,  and  chided  himself  for  a  fool.  Surely,  he  &p- 
pealed  to  his  vaunted  reason,  he  should  remember  that  he 
was  a  fugitive,  in  imminent  peril,  and  then  he  smiled  even 
more  heartily  at  the  folly  of  that  thought.  Somehow,  on 
that  morning,  he  could  not  help  feeling  that  Wogan  and 
Graystones  were  many  leagues  behind  him,  and  that  by 
some  kind  miracle  they  never  would  be  suffered  to  overtake 
him. 

Adrift  in  such  contentment,  Jock  went  at  last  to  the  door, 
and  moving  softly,  lest  he  waken  Althea,  opened  it  to  the 
light  and  the  free  air.  Southward  he  saw  a  tumble  of  white 
clouds,  and  rain-washed  blue  above  them,  and  a  fair  sun, 
that  well-nigh  smote  him  blind,  swinging  upward,  like  a  cen- 
ser, at  his  left  hand.  BUnking,  he  shaded  his  eyes  with  his 
palm  and  looked  lower,  to  the  sun-shotten  waters  of  the 
Illey,  and  right  off  shore  he  spied  a  little  boat.  Upon  her 
thwarts  sat  two  men,  and  at  sight  of  him  they  rested  on  their 
oars  and  spoke  together. 

Jock  stepped  within  the  hut,  and  when  he  had  closed  the 
door  behind  him,  leaned  heavily  against  it.  For  an  instant 
he  was  conscious  of  an  agonized  waking,  like  that  of  a  child 
in  a  world  of  bewilderments,  and  then,  restored  to  his  old 
fighting  self,  he  stepped  to  the  window,  hard  by  the  door. 
This  window,  all  unglazed,  was  protected  by  a  rude  wooden 
shutter  that  was  in  place,  but  through  the  crack  of  the  shutter 
he  could  overlook  the  river  and  the  boat  and  the  two  men. 
He  saw  that  they  conferred  together  for  a  moment,  and  then 
they  pulled  hastily  back  to  the  southern  shore.  The  one,  a 
tall  fellow,  with  hair  so  sun-bleached  that  it  was  almost  white, 
hurried  away  along  the  path  while  the  other,  as  if  on  guard, 
sat  down  on  the  gunwale  of  the  boat. 

"White-head  has  gone  with  the  news  tp  Graystones,"  Jock 


TWO  AND  A  BARGAIN  215 

told  himself  dispassionately.  "And  t'other  knave  is  left  to 
see  that  I  do  not  escape  hence." 

With  the  zest  of  hatred  in  his  every  movement,  as  if 
already  he  were  at  hand-grips  with  his  enemies,  Jock  made 
his  preparations  against  the  coming  siege.  He  fetched  water 
from  the  spring  till  every  pail  in  the  hut  and  even  the 
bucking  tub  was  full.  He  took  down  a  broadaxe  that 
hung  in  the  lean-to,  he  charged  his  pistol,  he  laid  on  the 
table,  ready  to  hand,  the  powder  and  ball  that  he  had  levied 
from  the  chestnut-haired  Philip,  and  finally  he  barred  the 
door  and  the  windows  with  strips  of  wood. 

In  the  midst  of  this  noisy  task  he  became  for  the  first 
time  conscious  of  Althea's  presence.  He  turned  toward  the 
pallet,  and  he  saw  that  she  lay  wide-eyed  and  watched  him. 
Though  she  had  not  cried  out  nor  troubled  him  with  vain 
questions,  he  knew  that  she  realized  the  desperate  pass  to 
which  they  had  come.  Her  lips  were  thin.  Her  hands  that 
rested  on  the  coverlet  clenched  and  unclenched  in  nervous 
haste. 

"They  are  coming  —  the  soldiery?"  she  asked,  in  a 
breathless  voice. 

Jock  bowed  his  head,  and  then  he  flung  down  the  hammer 
that  he  held  and  sprang  to  Althea's  side,  for  she  had  sunk 
back  with  closed  eyes  and  he  believed  her  near  to  swooning. 

At  his  touch  on  her  shoulder,  however,  she  opened  her 
eyes.  "Do  not  —  heed  me,"  she  whispered.  "Go  to  your 
work.     I  am  not  afraid." 

Because  she  said  it,  he  knew  that  she  was  afraid,  and  with 
only  half  a  heart  for  the  confhct,  he  went  back  to  the  window 
where  he  had  ranged  his  weapons.  He  had  finished  his 
preparations.  He  had  nothing  now  to  do  but  to  wait,  and 
watch  the  girl,  and  think. 

About  midmorning,  as  he  read  the  time  by  the  station  of 
the  sun,  Jock  spied  through  the  crack  of  the  shutter  a  boat  of 


216  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

four  oars  and  then  another  rowing  leisurely  down  the  river. 
In  the  boats  he  made  out  the  gleam  of  light  given  back  from 
the  steel  caps  of  soldiers.  "They  are  coming,"  he  said,  in 
a  voice  that  unconsciously  he  lowered,  and  then  over  his 
shoulder  he  glanced  at  Althea.  She  had  dragged  herself 
erect  and  sat  with  her  arms  crossed  tensely  upon  her  breast. 
Her  face  was  very  white,  and  in  her  eyes  was  a  fear  more 
poignant  than  the  fear  of  death. 

In  that  moment  Jock  realized  that,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  the  joy  of  combat  was  not  for  him.  In  the  girl  who 
waited  yonder  for  the  issue  of  the  fight,  he  had  given  a  hostage 
to  Fortune  that  beat  his  weapon  down  and  bound  his  arms. 
If  he  should  fight  now  as  he  had  fought  at  Barbroke,  resist 
with  his  back  to  the  wall  till  they  struck  him  dead,  what  of 
the  girl?  He  had  to  answer  the  question  quickly,  for  his 
time  was  short.  Already  he  could  see  that  the  foremost  boat 
was  nosing  to  the  shore.  Before  they  killed  him,  —  he 
sketched  the  future  swiftly,  —  he  would  make  shift  to  kill 
a  man  or  two  of  Wogan's  troopers,  but  then,  as  he  knew 
well,  he  would  have  roused  them  to  fury,  and  to  that  fury 
the  hut  and  the  girl  that  it  sheltered  would  lie  defenceless. 
Had  the  girl  stood  before  the  soldiers  as  Mistress  Lovewell, 
she  might  perhaps  have  challenged  forbearance,  but  now  she 
would  be  to  them  no  more  than  Captain  Hetherington's  light 
of  love. 

To  himself  Jock  repeated  that  phrase  and  others,  more 
brutal,  that  he  knew  would  be  urged  in  ample  justification 
of  any  shame  that  Althea  might  suffer,  and  meanwhile  he  saw 
the  boats  beached  and  a  file  of  troopers  make  a  landing  on 
the  shore  below  him,  and  he  saw  that  Wogan  led  them.  Then 
he  made  his  decision,  and  looking  upon  Wogan,  he  did  not 
find  it  easy  to  make. 

Pistol  in  hand,  he  waited  till  the  troopers  were  filing  up 
the  slope,  till  Wogan,  stolidly  marching  at  the  head  of  the 


TWO  AND  A  BAEGAIN  217 

line,  was  within  forty  feet  of  the  hut,  and  then  he  thrust  the 
shutter  half  open  and  showed  himself  in  the  window.  "  Cap- 
tain!" he  cried.     "I'm  fain  to  speak  with  you." 

Instantly  the  little  colunm  was  halted.  There  were  twelve 
soldiers,  Jock  counted  them  swiftly,  and  on  their  outskirts 
several  of  the  coast  men  who  had  rowed  the  boats,  and  among 
them  the  white-headed  fellow  who  first  had  sought  the  island. 
Before  them  all  Wogan  stood  forth.  He  wore  no  helmet,  but 
a  dark  felt  hat,  slouched  forward  to  ward  the  sun  from  his 
eyes. 

"Well!"    said  Wogan,  dryly.     "You  are  free  to  speak." 

"  I  would  speak  alone  with  you,  sir,"  Jock  urged,  while  he 
prayed  for  patience  to  be  civil. 

Wogan  gave  a  perfunctory  sneer:  "And  what  warranty 
have  I  that  you  will  not  pistol  me?  How  shall  I  trust  to 
your  honor  —  you  that  have  broken  your  parole?" 

With  sudden  misgiving,  Jock  faced  a  new  vista  of  menace. 
In  the  spirit  of  the  law  he  knew  that  he  had  been  released 
from  his  promise  not  to  try  to  escape  when  Wogan,  on  his 
own  side,  broke  his  corresponding  pledge  of  fair  treatment  by 
putting  him  under  lock  and  key,  but  he  feared,  from  his 
knowledge  of  Puritan  subtleties,  that,  by  the  letter  of  the  law, 
he  might  be  held  guilty  of  breach  of  parole.  In  any  case, 
the  judges  of  the  matter  were  also  his  jailers  and  his  sworn 
enemies,  and  he  kept  a  clear  recollection  of  Wogan's  threat 
of  vengeance  in  the  event  of  a  broken  parole.  Dumb  with 
dismay,  he  looked  a  moment  at  Wogan,  and  then,  by  old 
habit,  he  returned,  in  spite  of  all,  to  the  task  that  he  had 
set  out  to  do. 

Taking  the  only  course  that  was  left  to  him,  he  laid  down 
his  pistol  and  rested  his  empty  hands  on  the  window-ledge 
before  him.  "Look  you!"  said  he.  "I  have  put  down  my 
arms.  Now,  sir,  in  mercy  let  me  speak  with  you  —  unless 
you  fear  me  1" 


218  THE  TAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

The  taunt  had  its  effect.  After  all,  Wogan  was  not  a  coward, 
and,  pricked  by  Jock's  words,  he  strode  up  and  halted  just 
below  the  window.     "Now,  sirrah!    Be  brief!"   he  ordered. 

For  an  instant  Jock  hesitated,  and  then  with  a  touch  of 
grim  humor,  he  told  himself  that  it  was  well  for  him  that,  as 
Rafe  Heyroun  had  delighted  to  remind  him,  he  had  been  born 
in  Yorkshire  where  men  were  steady-headed  and  audacious 
in  bargaining.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  had  greater  need  of 
shrewd  audacity.  "Captain,"  he  began  in  a  voice  that  he 
lowered  lest  Althea  overhear,  "you  wish  to  take  me  alive?" 

"I  am  going  to  take  you  aUve,"  Wogan  amended  pithily. 

Jock  showed  his  teeth  in  a  hateful  grin.  "  You  said  that  at 
Barbroke.  Twas  not  an  easy  task  to  take  me  then.  'Twill 
be  a  harder  task  to  take  me  now.  I  have  a  pistol,  and  powder, 
and  ball.  I  have  a  broadaxe  for  the  first  man,  and  perchance 
the  second,  that  comes  through  the  door.  And  I  have  a  clasp 
knife  for  mine  own  throat  at  the  last.  You  will  lose  a  man  or 
two,  and  you  will  not  take  me  living,  unless  you  be  pleased  to 
grant  the  terms  that  I  shall  name." 

Wogan  indulged  himself  in  a  bitter  smile.  "  You  are  in  no 
case  to  dictate  terms,"  he  said,  and  made  as  if  to  turn  upon  his 
heel. 

In  silence  Jock  waited,  though  he  felt  his  heart  leap  into  his 
throat.  He  wondered  if  Wogan  would  bear  himself  as  a  man 
with  a  private  grudge,  too  angered  even  to  hear  to  a  compro- 
mise, or  as  an  officer  bent  to  save  from  needless  hazard  the 
lives  of  the  soldiers  that  followed  him.  To  his  relief  he 
found  that  Wogan,  even  as  he  had  read  him,  was  after  all  an 
officer. 

Wogan  tried  to  veil  capitulation  with  a  jeer,  but  he  did 
finally  concede :  "  Come !  For  the  sport  of  it,  I'll  hear  the 
terms  you  offer." 

"I  will  surrender,"  Jock  said  in  the  same  low  voice,  "on 
two  conditions:  first,  that  neither  you  nor  any  of  your  men 


TWO  AND  A  BARGAIN  219 

shall  set  foot  in  this  hut,  and  second,  that  you  shall  fetch 
hither  the  old  woman,  Tamsine  Hendie.  When  she  comes 
into  the  house,  I  will  come  forth,"  —  he  gulped  a  little  at 
the  words,  but  he  got  them  out  bravely,  —  "  and  I  will  sur- 
render myself  unresisting  into  your  hands  to  deal  with  as 
shall  please  you." 

There  was  an  instant's  pause.  Wogan  put  back  his  hat 
from  his  forehead  and  stared,  and  Jock,  without  knowing 
what  he  did,  picked  at  a  sliver  on  the  window-ledge,  while  his 
eyes  strove  to  read  Wogan  to  the  soul.  Then  said  Wogan, 
surprised  past  the  point  of  being  angry :  "  So  that  little  wan- 
ton is  here  with  you  ?  I  mean  that  young  baggage,  the  Love- 
well  wench.  She  went  astray  upon  the  day  of  the  storm. 
Her  kindred  have  sought  her  in  vain.  So  she  is  here  —  with 
you !" 

Obviously  the  man  was  glad,  glad  to  the  soul  to  find  one 
tale  at  least  of  Blanche  Mallory's  telling  thus  confirmed,  and 
of  this  satisfaction  he  quite  unconsciously  gave  Jock  the 
benefit.  "Ay,  you  may  have  the  terms  you  ask,"  he  con- 
ceded almost  cheerfully;  and  then  bethought  himself  and 
added,  as  in  duty  bound:  "And  you  may  be  thankful  that 
you  can  be  of  service  to  my  brother  Heyroun,  else  I  should 
hang  you  to  the  nearest  tree  —  you  cursed  wencher!" 

With  an  elation  that  showed  through  his  semblance  of  vir- 
tuous wrath,  Wogan  strode  away.  Jock  waited  till  he  had 
seen  him  speak  a  word  to  the  white-headed  man,  Phineas 
Hendie,  as  he  now  judged  his  betrayer  to  be,  waited  till  he 
had  seen  Hendie  push  off  and  row  upstream,  and  then  he  ven- 
tured a  little  from  the  window  and  spoke  softly,  "Althea!" 

She  had  been  lying  face  down  upon  the  pallet,  but  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice  she  looked  up,  white  and  tremulous,  and 
he  told  her,  speaking  swiftly,  how  Wogan  had  been  generous, 
and  Mother  Hendie  soon  would  be  there  to  care  for  her,  and 
none  save  Wogan  and  himself  would  know  of  her  presence 


220  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYST0NE8 

on  the  islet.  At  that  reprieve  he  saw  her  face  that  had  been 
so  white  flame  to  rose,  and  her  tremulous  lips  smile,  and  he 
told  himself  that  after  all  no  price  was  too  great  to  pay  for 
that  rapturous  look  of  hers.  So  when  she  was  fain  to  know 
what  was  to  be  his  fate,  he  found  it  possible  to  play  his  part 
bravely,  and  laugh,  and  tell  her  that  Wogan,  who  was  thus 
generous  to  a  maid,  surely  would  not  be  quite  ungenerous  to 
a  man,  while  all  the  time  he  watched  out  of  the  tail  of  his 
eye  lest  this  much-belauded  Wogan  should  attempt,  even 
then,  to  circumvent  him  by  some  trick. 

Wogan  kept  faith,  however,  and  drew  off  his  men  from  the 
hut,  so  that  presently  Jock  ventured  to  unbar  the  door,  and 
Althea,  reassured  by  his  calmness,  lay  down  again  on  the 
pallet.  There  she  fell  asleep,  worn  out  with  the  anxiety  of 
the  past  hours,  and  Jock  was  half  sorry  that  he  must  lose 
these  last  minutes  with  her,  and  half  was  glad  that  they  both 
were  spared  the  pain  of  parting.  The  most  of  that  sunshiny 
midday  he  spent  by  the  window,  handling  the  pistol  that  he 
must  so  soon  yield  up,  and  watching  the  troopers  lest  they 
attempt  some  treachery,  but  now  and  again  he  snatched  a 
moment  to  steal  to  Althea's  side,  and  looking  upon  her,  strove 
to  print  upon  his  memory  every  curve  and  line  and  sweet, 
subtle  shadowing  of  her  face. 

He  wondered  whether  he  most  hoped  or  feared  that  she 
might  wake  before  he  went  and  say  farewell,  but  the  hope 
was  frustrate  and  the  fear  was  set  at  rest,  for  she  still  was 
sleeping,  quite  outworn,  when  Hendie's  boat  made  land  once 
more  and  out  of  it  bundled  a  brisk  old  woman,  with  a  weather- 
beaten  face,  who  came  up  the  steep  path  as  nimbly  as  a  goat. 
Jock  thrust  the  door  half  open  and  in  the  shadow  waited  for 
her  coming.  At  least  he  knew  speedily  that  the  woman  was 
Althea's  friend,  for  from  the  threshold  she  cast  one  glance 
toward  the  pallet,  and  then  she  cursed  him  swiftly  and  flu- 
ently, in  coastwise  speech,  for  shaming  a  motherless  child, 


TWO  AND  A  BARGAIN  221 

yet  throughout  she  cursed  him  in  a  whisper  lest  she  wake  the 
sleeping  girl. 

He  heard  her  to  the  end,  and  then  he  slipped  into  her  hand 
the  money  that  he  had  taken  from  Philip  Heyroun. 

"  I'll  none  of  your  chinks,  you  pestilent  stringer  !"  said  she. 

"Go  to  with  your  folly!"  he  answered.  "Pocket  it  up, 
and  do  you  look  well  to  Mistress  Lovewell." 

One  last  glance  he  cast  toward  the  pallet,  and  then  he 
squared  his  shoulders  and  stepped  across  the  threshold.  With- 
out, a  stone's  cast  from  the  hut,  he  saw  that  Wogan  and  a 
couple  of  his  troopers  were  waiting  to  receive  him. 


CHAPTER  XX 

MERCY  OP  THE  HETROUNS 

Late  that  afternoon  Jock  passed  for  the  third  time  in  his 
life  through  the  shadow  of  the  gatehouse  at  Graystones,  and 
though  on  those  two  former  occasions  he  had  come  thither 
unwiUingly,  he  held  that  he  had  come  in  a  mood  of  cheerful 
anticipation,  when  compared  to  the  mood  that  now  was  on 
him.  This  time  he  was  trudging  afoot,  with  his  left  wrist 
bound  to  Captain  Wogan's  saddlebow  and  Captain  Wogan's 
troopers  guarding  him  on  either  hand.  From  the  bank  of 
the  Illey  to  the  house  of  Graystones  the  march  had  been 
made  in  silence,  and  to  Jock's  well-grounded  apprehensions 
silence  was  worse  than  any  threat  that  Wogan  could  have 
uttered. 

When  the  little  squad  drew  rein  at  last  in  the  court  of  the 
Graystones  stable,  Jock  was  moved  to  fervent  thanksgiving  by 
the  sight  of  Lieutenant  Phil  Heyroun.  Hitherto  he  had  been 
quite  indifferent  to  the  Lieutenant's  presence,  but  now  he  saw 
in  him  a  more  or  less  dispassionate  outsider,  and  a  man  who 
had  in  latter  days  treated  him  with  grudging  civility,  and, 
what  was  more  important,  a  brother  to  Rafe  Heyroun  that 
had  befriended  him.  Hopefully,  then,  as  a  man  catches  at  a 
last  straw  of  hope,  he  waited  to  see  if  the  Lieutenant  would 
speak  a  word  concerning  him,  and  he  had  not  long  to  wait. 
Scarcely  had  Wogan  reined  in  his  tired  horse  and  given  a 
command  for  his  men  to  dismount,  when  Lieutenant  Phil  was 

222 


MEECY  OF  THE  HEYEOUNS  223 

out  of  the  stable  door  where  he  had  stood  glooming,  and 
halted  at  his  captain's  stirrup. 

"So  you've  taken  him !"  said  Phil,  with  a  nod  toward  Jock, 
who  perforce  had  halted  when  the  horse  had  halted,  and  then, 
across  the  horse's  neck,  he  addressed  Jock  directly:  "You 
coney-catching  rascal,  if  you'd  had  the  gratitude  of  a  mangy 
dog,  you'd  'a'  laid  the  matter  open  to  my  brother.  He  used 
you  handsomely  —  the  more  fool  he !  You  might  'a'  told 
him  of  the  will." 

"Nay,"  said  Wogan,  with  a  grin,  "in  this  matter  Hether- 
ington  has  run  afore  you,  Phil.  Already  he  has  told  me  a 
deal  about  wills  and  so  on.  Look  you,  here's  a  key  to  the 
roof  room  which  he  swears  he  had  of  your  cousin  Philip  Hey- 
roun,  but  I  judge  that  he  had  it  from  a  kinder  hand,  though 
still  from  one  that  was  of  Heyroun  blood.  And  he  tells  me, 
too,  that  your  cousin  Philip  —  on  my  word,  he  drives  poor 
Philip  hard  in  his  inventions !  —  that  Philip  has  concealed 
in  his  possession  one  of  your  missing  wills." 

"That,  at  least,  is  no  invention  of  this  scoundrel's,"  Lieu- 
tenant Phil  interrupted.  "  This  day,  after  you  had  ridden 
forth  to  seize  the  rogue,  my  cousin  Jarvis  —  Phihp's  brother, 
mark  you,  kinsman  to  the  whole  forging,  lying,  perjured  ging 
of  them!  —  Jarvis  found  a  will  behind  the  wainscot  in  his 
chamber.  That's  Jarvis's  tale  —  I  would  he  were  muzzled  ! 
Let  them  believe  it  who  list.  In  any  case,  'tis  mine  uncle's 
will,  dated  last  February,  and  it  gives  all  to  my  cousin  Philip." 
As  he  stood.  Lieutenant  Phil  began  to  tug  and  twist  at  the 
horse's  mane.  "I  have  looked  upon  the  will.  'Tis  a  rank 
forgery,  Lambert,  it  must  be  a  forgery,  —  but  even  so  it  may 
work  a  heap  of  mischief.  And  so  you  had  knowledge  of  it !" 
He  wheeled  again  upon  Jock.  "You  knew,  and  you  did  not 
tell  us,  you  damned  graceless  mongrel !" 

Jock  moistened  his  lips,  on  the  point  of  saying  that  it  was 
only  three  days  since  he  had  wrung  from  the  chestnut-haixed 


224  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Philip  his  knowledge  of  this  will,  recovered  by  so  miraculous 
a  coincidence,  but  he  thought  better  of  it  and  stood  mute. 
Where  was  the  use  of  speaking?  Whatever  he  said  would 
merely  be  turned  to  his  disadvantage.  Once  that  day  he  had 
spoken,  revealing  the  chestnut-haired  Philip's  share  in  his 
escape  and  his  confession  touching  the  will,  even  as  he  had 
sworn  to  do  in  the  event  of  recapture.  By  such  means  he 
had  hoped  to  hurt  Philip,  perhaps  even  to  help  himself  a  little, 
and  he  realized  now  that  it  was  himself  alone  that  had  been 
hurt. 

Wiser  than  Jock  had  reckoned  him  to  be,  the  chestnut- 
haired  Philip  had  discounted  his  story  by  himself  producing 
the  will  in  question,  as  soon  as  the  recapture  of  the  witness 
against  him  had  become  inevitable.  He  had  been  forced  to 
discover  the  will  in  so  crude  a  manner  that  he  was  burdened 
with  an  ugly  suspicion,  but  there  he  touched  the  limit  of  the 
injury  that  it  was  in  Jock's  power  to  do  him.  If  Philip 
chose  to  brazen  the  matter  out,  indifferent  to  the  suspicions 
of  his  kinsmen,  he  was  well  beyond  the  reach  of  the  law. 

Meantime,  for  his  sins,  Jock  realized  that,  by  his  own  con- 
fession, he  was  himself  now  suspected  to  have  known  from 
the  first  about  the  hidden  will,  and  to  have  kept  silent  until 
he  had  found  himself  in  extremity.  It  was  a  crazed  suspi- 
cion, quickly  to  be  dissipated  in  the  light  of  reason,  but  from 
old  experience  Jock  held  that  Wogan  and  Lieutenant  Phil, 
the  one  from  hatred  to  him,  the  other  from  sheer  addle-head- 
edness,  were  alike  incapable  of  shedding  such  a  light  on  any 
subject  pertaining  to  himself.  So,  after  all,  he  could  not 
feel  much  surprise  or  resentment  when  the  Lieutenant  cursed 
him  for  playing  double,  but  he  did  sense  a  kind  of  humor  in 
the  fact  that,  thanks  to  the  chestnut-haired  Philip's  skilful 
move,  the  man  on  whose  interposition  he  had  builded  should 
prove  as  bitter  against  him  as  Wogan  himself. 

In  silence,  the  only  dignified  course  that  was  open  to  him, 


MERCY  OF  THE   HEYROUNS  225 

Jock  heard  the  Lieutenant  to  the  end,  and  without  a  struggle 
suffered  Wogan's  men  to  handcuff  him.  At  Wogan's  bidding 
he  followed  then  between  two  of  the  troopers,  across  the  paved 
quadrangle  of  the  stable-court,  through  chill  passages  where 
serving  folk  stood  gaping  in  the  doorways,  and  so  into  a  dim 
little  room  that  in  the  old  days  had  been  the  buttery  to  the 
most  ancient  part  of  the  house. 

Before  a  stout  door  set  in  the  wall  Wogan  bade  halt,  and 
was  sending  one  of  his  men  to  fetch  the  key,  when  the  door 
to  the  passage  without  was  thrust  open  and  the  chestnut- 
haired  Philip  sauntered  in.  The  light  was  not  so  dim  but 
that  Jock  could  observe,  first,  with  unregenerate  satisfaction, 
that  Philip  still  bore  the  marks  of  his  handiwork  in  the  shape 
of  a  blackened  eye  and  a  cut  lip,  and  second,  with  propor- 
tionate dismay,  that  Philip,  as  he  looked  upon  him,  was 
smiling  never  so  slightly. 

•  "So  you've  fetched  back  your  promise-breaker,  eh,  Wo- 
gan?" said  Philip,  In  his  voice,  defiantly  confident,  and  in 
his  carriage,  wondrously  erect  for  him,  flaunted  the  outward 
signs  of  the  consciousness  that  was  his,  that,  if  he  were  to 
rise  victor  from  the  desperate  game  that  he  had  been  forced 
to  play,  he  must  throughout  cast  his  dice  masterfully.  Like 
a  master  he  handed  Wogan  the  key  to  the  door.  "In  the 
service  of  the  Parliament,"  said  he,  "you  are  free  of  this 
house  at  all  times.  Captain,  even  as  you  were  when  others, 
nearer  akin  to  you,  had  good  hope  to  play  the  great  sir 
here." 

Wogan's  reply,  as  he  fitted  the  key  to  the  lock,  was  but 
half  articulate,  and  the  little  that  was  audible  rang  ungra- 
ciously to  the  effect  that  Philip  could  not  well  help  himself, 
if  the  loyal  servants  of  the  Parliament  chose  to  seek  their 
quarters  under  the  roof  that  he  called  his.  In  an  evil  temper, 
manifestly,  toward  all  the  world,  he  ended  his  speech  by 
crashing  open  the  door  and  revealing  a  steep  flight  of  stone 

Q  I 


226  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

stairs  that  descended  into  blackness.  "  Get  you  down,  Heth- 
erington!"  he  bade.  "And  if  you  don't  find  your  quarters 
to  your  Uking,  lay  it  to  heart  that  you  should  not  have  tried 
this  second  escape.  Repetitions  are  wearisome,  remember, 
and  ofttimes  unadvisable." 

At  the  words  Philip  snickered,  with  a  hateful  uptwist  of 
the  lips,  and  for  an  instant  Jock  saw  the  walls  and  the  floor 
and  the  grinning  faces  of  those  about  him  sicklied  over  with 
the  hue  of  scarlet.  Between  Philip  who  had  betrayed  him, 
and  Wogan  who  had  waited  five  weeks  to  taunt  him  with  that 
stale  form  of  words,  he  had  little  choice.  To  set  his  hands 
and  his  teeth  to  the  throat  of  either  man  would  have  been 
comfort,  but  it  was  comfort  that  he  knew  was  not  for  him. 
With  dogged  effort  he  blinked  the  mad  scarlet  from  before 
his  eyes,  and  giving  those  that  watched  the  gratification  of 
seeing  him  hesitate  but  a  single  minute,  went  at  a  good  mar- 
tial step  toward  the  door  of  his  prison. 

As  he  crossed  the  threshold  he  felt  the  damp  of  the  stair- 
way grave-cold  upon  his  face,  and  he  caught  the  heavy, 
earthy  scent  of  a  pent-up  and  sunless  spot.  Round  him  the 
light  faded  as  he  went  down  the  stairs,  and  with  all  his  heart 
he  prayed  that  he  might  not  stumble  in  the  dimness  while 
those  above,  as  he  was  conscious,  stood  and  watched  him 
from  the  stairhead.  Then  he  was  freed  of  that  fear,  at  least, 
for  he  heard  the  door  slammed,  locked,  and  bolted  behind 
him,  and  in  the  pitchy  dark  he  leaned  against  the  wall  of  the 
stairway  and  gave  thanks  for  the  poor  boon  of  being  left 
alone. 

After  what  seemed  to  him  a  long  space  in  which  he  was 
conscious  only  of  darkness  and  harrowing  cold,  he  took  note 
of  a  gray  light,  if  lesser  darkness  may  be  so  termed,  that 
gloomed  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  Thither  he  stumbled, 
groping  his  manacled  hands  along  the  oozy  wall,  until  he 
reached  the  cellar  bottom,  and  then,  as  he  grew  accustomed 


MERCY  OF  THE  HEYROUNS  227 

to  the  almost  total  blackness,  he  made  a  survey  of  his 
prison.  It  was  the  cellar  beneath  the  oldest  portion  of 
the  house  in  which  he  found  himself.  The  only  light  came 
from  a  narrow,  grated  window  that  was  set  deep  in  masonry 
at  the  joining  of  the  wall  with  the  roof,  and  through  this  win- 
dow could  be  seen  a  few  spears  of  grass.  Evidently  the 
cellar  was  sunk  a  good  ten  feet  below  the  level  of  the  ground. 
The  walls  were  clammy  to  the  touch,  the  floor  was  damp  as 
if  with  hidden  springs,  and  for  cold  and  darkness  the  place 
would  have  vied  with  any  dungeon. 

When  he  had  made  this  not  too  comforting  survey,  Jock 
sat  down  on  the  lowest  stair  and  with  such  philosophy  as  he 
could  muster  reviewed  his  position.  First  of  all,  he  gave 
over  the  hope  of  quick  release.  Manacled  as  he  was,  he  had 
not  the  slightest  chance  of  escape.  There  in  the  cellar  he 
would  have  to  stay  until  Wogan  chose  to  invite  him  out, 
and  of  that  he  saw  little  prospect.  He  was  doomed  then, 
in  all  likelihood,  to  endure  for  some  hours,  even  for  some 
days,  the  torments  of  cold  and  of  darkness,  and  thereto,  it 
might  be,  of  hunger  and  thirst.  Still,  such  punishment  could 
not  last  forever.  Surely,  the  discovery  of  the  will  and  the 
resulting  shift  of  affairs  at  Graystones  would  bring  Rafe 
Heyroun  post-haste  from  London. 

"  And  he  will  help  me,"  Jock  whipped  up  his  flagging  cour- 
age. "He's  a  good  fellow,  and  my  life  on't,  he  will  stand 
my  friend !" 

While  Jock  reasoned  thus,  what  little  light  was  in  the  cellar 
faded,  and  in  the  thick  darkness  that  closed  round  him 
he  found  it  harder  than  ever  to  play  the  philosopher.  He 
realized  that  he  was  shivering  with  cold,  and  when  he  rose  and 
paced  up  and  down  to  warm  himself,  he  discovered  that  he 
was  weary  in  every  fibre,  thanks  to  the  hard  march  at  Wogan's 
saddlebow,  and  thereto  faint  with  hunger,  and  half  choked 
with  thirst.     Moreover,  now  that  he  had  leisure  to  brood 


228  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

upon  his  own  condition,  he  found  that  he  had  not  done 
wisely  in  Uving  the  last  days  in  drenched  garments.  His 
throat  was  sore,  his  head  ached,  and  with  the  gloomiest 
foreboding  he  admitted  that  he  was  more  than  likely  to 
complicate  his  already  hazardous  position  by  falling  ill. 

That  night,  or  rather,  a  stretch  of  black  hours  that  seemed 
longer  than  many  nights,  Jock  spent  crouched  upon  the  stone 
stairs,  as  far  as  he  could  climb  from  the  perishing  chill  of  the 
cellar  bottom.  In  the  dark  below  he  could  hear  the  scurry 
and  squeak  of  mice,  and  to  such  lullaby  he  slept  by  snatches, 
and  woke  stiff  with  his  cramped  position,  chilled  to  the  mar- 
row, hot  with  growing  fever,  and  tried  to  swallow  and  each 
time  found  that  in  the  effort  he  suffered  greater  pain.  Too 
wretched  to  sleep,  he  gave  over  the  attempt  at  last,  and  sat 
staring  into  the  dark,  while  he  watched  and  prayed  for  the 
first  gleam  of  dawn. 

In  the  fainter  darkness  that  in  the  cellar  passed  for  the  light 
of  morning,  came  one  of  the  troopers,  Farrat,  the  Heronswood 
man,  with  whom  aforetime  Jock  had  had  some  speech  in  the 
Graystones  stables.  Lantern  in  hand,  the  trooper  made  his 
way  down  the  stairs  and  set  upon  the  lowest  step  a  jug  of 
water  and  a  loaf  of  coarse  bread.  Moreover,  after  a  pro- 
longed stare  at  Jock,  he  cheered  him  with  the  gratuitous 
information  that  he  was  going  sick.  With  martial  brevity 
Jock  assured  him  that  he  lied,  but  when  he  tried  to  drink  the 
water,  after  Farrat  had  gone,  he  almost  groaned  aloud  with 
the  agony  of  swallowing,  and  as  for  the  bread,  he  did  not 
pretend  to  eat  it,  but  forthwith  flung  it  to  the  scrambling 
mice. 

He  found  the  day  long  and  full  of  wretchedness,  the  more 
so  as,  in  proportion  as  he  sickened,  he  slacked  his  hold  on  the 
hope  to  which  hitherto  he  had  clung,  —  his  solitary  hope  of 
Rafe  Heyroun's  interposition.  With  pitiless  logic  he  told  him- 
self that  now,  when  he  was  smirched  with  Blanche  Mallory's 


MERCY  OF  THE  HEYROUNS  229 

false  charge  and  with  the  ugly-seeming  circumstance  of  his  stay 
with  Althea  upon  Hendie's  islet,  he  was  surely  cast  out  for 
all  time  from  the  favor  of  that  occasional  Puritan,  Rafe  Hey- 
roun.  If  he  had  alienated  Rafe  by  that  hour  in  the  barley 
field,  he  must  inevitably  by  these  later  events,  as  they  would 
be  set  forth,  have  driven  him  into  the  ranks  of  his  active 
enemies. 

At  last  the  light  faded  from  the  cellar,  and  the  darkness 
came  and  endured  and  gave  place  to  light  again,  but  Jock 
had  lost  count  of  the  time  and  lost  sense  of  everything,  save 
of  the  pain  that  ploughed  him  from  the  root  of  his  tongue  to 
the  depth  of  his  chest.  On  the  instinct  of  a  sick  animal  he 
crept  away  from  the  stairs  where  men  might  come,  and  the 
window  where  the  pale  light  struck  through,  and  lay  down 
in  the  farthest  and  darkest  corner  of  the  cellar.  He  must 
have  drifted  into  sleep,  though  even  in  sleep  he  was  conscious 
of  cold  and  pain,  and  he  woke  startled  as  with  nightmare  by 
a  sudden  fiare  of  light  in  his  face. 

Instinctively  he  swung  up  his  hands  to  his  eyes,  and  then 
he  felt  a  grip  on  his  wrist  that  forced  his  hands  aside.  Blink- 
ing, he  looked  up  at  Wogan,  who  bent  over  him,  lantern  in 
hand,  and  he  found  the  sight  tonic.  In  any  other  presence, 
except,  perhaps,  that  of  the  chestnut-haired  Philip,  he  might 
have  collapsed  and  in  his  misery  begged  for  succor.  In  this 
presence  he  sat  stiffly,  with  clenched  teeth,  and  waited. 

Wogan  straightened  himself  from  his  scrutiny  of  Jock's 
face.  "I've  no  wish  to  be  too  hard  on  you,"  he  said  with 
swelling  magnanimity.  "It  may  be  you  have  been  disci- 
plined enough  for  your  breach  of  parole.  You  shall  return 
to  your  old  quarters,  ay,  and  if  you  are  not  shamming,  but 
are  sick  as  you  seem,  you  shall  have  proper  tendance.  In 
return  I  name  but  one  condition:  ere  you  come  forth  of  this 
place,  you  must  crave  Mistress  Mallory's  pardon  for  the  insult 
that  you  offered  her." 


230  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Without  strength  to  hold  himself  erect,  Jock  leaned  against 
the  wall  behind  him  and  looked  up  at  Wogan.  "  Ask  Blanche 
Mallory's  pardon?"  he  repeated.  "Confess  to  that  of  which 
she  charges  me?"  and  then,  being  in  most  cruel  distress, 
added  without  thought  of  chivalry :  "  I'll  see  her  in  hell  first !" 

Wogan  kept  his  temper  so  admirably  that  Jock  realized 
that  he  must  indeed  seem  ill.  "You'll  quit  this  cellar  on  no 
other  condition,"  he  patiently  repeated  his  terms. 

With  the  ghost  of  a  laugh  Jock  answered,  "  If  you  hold  me 
here  much  longer,  I'll  quit  it  in  spite  of  your  teeth  —  that  is, 
unless  you  purpose  to  bury  me  here  when  I  am  dead." 

This  grewsome  suggestion  seemed  to  disturb  Wogan  far 
more  than  it  disturbed  Jock.  "  Come,  come,  you'd  best  hark 
to  reason,"  he  fairly  urged. 

In  the  midst  of  his  urging,  Jock  gave  him  his  final  answer. 
"Tell  Blanche  Mallory,"  he  said,  "that  I  am  her  servant,  Cap- 
tain, in  that,  when  you  are  wed  to  her,  she  will  pay  you  all 
I  owe  you,  and  I  owe  you  no  small  sum.  And  you,  unless  I 
misread  you  sorely,  will  pay  her  what  I  owe  her.  You  have 
my  blessing.  Captain,  but  my  apologies  for  a  wrong  I  never 
meditated  you  will  never  have!" 

He  slid  down  again  into  his  old  position,  where  he  lay  with 
closed  eyes,  and  after  what  seemed  to  him  a  long  moment,  he 
heard  Wogan's  footsteps  recede  and  die  away  upon  the  stair- 
case. 

After  another  lapse  of  sleep  and  fevered  dreams  Jock  opened 
his  eyes  again  beneath  the  light  of  a  lantern.  It  was  Farrat 
this  time,  and,  as  Jock  realized,  he  would  never  have  come 
of  his  own  initiative.  He  had  fetched  a  blanket  which  he 
put  round  Jock,  and  then  he  offered  good  advice,  learned  by 
rote,  anent  the  wisdom  of  Jock's  doing  whatever  Captain 
Wogan  bade.  Jock  lay  with  an  arm  across  his  eyes,  and 
laughed  light-headedly,  as  he  read  the  meaning  th^t  lay 
beneath  the  words. 


MERCY  OF  THE  HEYROUNS  231 

"Heaven  save  your  brave  captain's  dignity!"  he  said. 
"  Tell  him  from  me  he'll  do  no  more  by  proxy  than  he  did  in 
person." 

So  Farrat  went  his  way,  and  Jock  lay,  sweating  and  fever- 
racked,  in  the  blanket,  and  listened  to  the  scurry  of  the  mice. 
By  times  he  thought  on  the  predicament  of  Wogan,  who,  in 
obvious  fear  lest  he  do  to  death  Rafe  Heyroun's  witness, 
would  fain  have  him  safe  out  of  the  cellar,  yet  was  too  stub- 
born to  remove  the  condition  which  in  his  foolishness  he  had 
made,  and  he  found  amusement  in  the  thought.  He  was  at 
the  point  where  he  was  ready  to  laugh  aloud  at  the  plight  of 
his  arch-enemy,  had  he  not  been  fearful  lest,  in  laughing,  he 
should  inflict  a  new  torture  on  his  throat,  when  he  thought 
to  hear  his  name  spoken  aloud. 

"Hetherington!" 

He  could  have  sworn  that  he  had  heard  the  word,  but,  half 
aware  of  the  fever  that  was  on  him,  he  was  ready  to  distrust 
his  senses,  until  he  heard  his  name  spoken  again  in  a  breath- 
less voice  of  fright.  This  time  he  knew  that  it  was  no  delusion. 
Uncertainly  he  dragged  himself  to  his  feet,  and  groped  his 
way  across  the  cellar  to  a  point  beneath  the  narrow  window. 
There,  when  he  looked  upward  along  the  one  pallid  bar  of 
light,  he  could  see  the  few  spears  of  grass  and  the  smutty 
face  of  a  little  wench  that  he  remembered  to  have  met  about 
the  house. 

"It  was  you  that  called  me?"  he  asked,  with  a  sense  of 
disappointment  that  was  the  heavier  because  he  scarcely 
knew  what  it  was  that  he  had  dared  to  hope. 

"  So  please  you !"  the  girl  hurried  out  her  words.  "  I  come 
from  Mistress  Althea.  I  am  Dol,  the  scullery  wench,  sir. 
And  oh !   she  is  fain  to  know  how  it  fares  with  you." 

Blankly  Jock  stared  up  at  the  girl's  smudged  face.  "Mis- 
tress Althea?"  he  repeated.  "How  comes  it  that  she  sent 
you?    She  is  not  here  at  Graystones?" 


232  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Dol,  the  scullery  wench,  nodded,  catching  her  breath  in  a 
sob,  and  then  snuffled:  "They  fetched  her  home  this  morn. 
Master  Jarvis  went  unto  her,  and  there  was  a  great  to-do,  and 
she  is  locked  into  her  chamber,  and  oh,  sir,  she  is  fain  to  know 
how  it  fares  with  you." 

"Why,"  said  Jock,  "tell  her  not  to  fret  herself  for  me. 
Tell  her  you  had  speech  with  me,  and  that  you  saw  me  well 
—  and  merry !" 

For  a  moment  he  leaned  against  the  wall  and  listened  till 
he  heard  the  little  wench  hurry  away  in  the  sunlight  and  free 
air  above.  Then  he  trudged  back  to  his  chosen  dark  corner, 
slowly  but  not  stumbling  so  much  as  when  he  first  had  risen, 
and  he  wrapped  the  blanket  close  about  him  and  disposed 
himself  as  comfortably  as  he  could.  Once  again,  to  his  sal- 
vation, he  felt  the  impulse  to  fight  resurge  in  him.  They 
had  broken  faith  with  him;  they  had  made  captive  his  body 
that  he  had  laid  in  pawn  for  Althea's  safety,  and  now  they 
had  given  her  over  to  be  shamed  and  ill  treated  by  her  kins- 
women. No  matter  for  that!  he  repeated  savagely.  He 
was  alive,  and  he  still  would  live  to  fight  them  all  and  succor 
her. 

To  that  end,  first  of  all,  he  would  not  let  his  body  break 
under  ill  usage,  nor  his  courage  leave  him  in  the  dark  and~ 
the  loneliness  where  he  was  pent.  Steady  as  he  had  not  been 
in  hours,  he  lay  and  thought  of  Althea,  and  somehow,  half 
forgetful  of  cold  and  hunger,  contrived  to  endure  through 
another  night  and  even,  for  one  blessed  hour,  to  snatch  a 
little  sleep. 

In  what  Jock  reckoned  to  be  the  morning  of  his  third  day's 
imprisonment,  Farrat  came  again  to  bring  him  his  rations 
and  to  proffer  good  advice,  as  to  the  wisdom  of  submitting 
to  the  Captain's  conditions,  but  at  the  first  words  Jock 
laughed,  in  a  fashion  that  made  him  retreat.  Alone  in  the 
dull  light,  Jock  glanced  at  the  dish  that  was  set  within  reach 


MERCY  OF  THE  HEYROUNS  233 

of  his  hand,  and  concluded  that  Wogan  must  indeed  be 
solicitous  for  his  welfare,  for  this  time  they  had  not  sent 
him  bread  and  water,  but  hot  meat  from  the  Graystones 
kitchen.  In  the  fighting  mood  that  was  on  him,  he  resolved 
that  presently  he  would  eat  the  meat,  every  mouthful,  and  win 
back  his  strength,  but  for  a  time  he  delayed,  only  too  well 
aware  what  pain  it  would  cost  him  to  swallow  even  one  mor- 
sel. Lying  with  his  head  on  his  arm,  he  sniffed  the  savor  of 
the  food,  all  the  time  vowing  that  next  moment  he  would 
rise  and  eat,  and  while  he  thus  hesitated  he  grew  aware  of 
the  dim  shapes  of  mice  that  came  creeping  toward  the  dish. 

At  heart  Jock  dreaded  to  attempt  to  eat,  and  so  it  was  that, 
in  spite  of  his  brave  resolutions,  he  lay  listless,  and  indifferently 
watched  the  swarming  mice  until  he  saw  the  great  gray 
leader  clamber  to  the  edge  of  the  dish  and  snatch  forth  a 
morsel.  "Bravely  done,  lad!"  Jock  whispered,  and  though 
by  putting  forth  his  hand  he  could  almost  have  touched 
the  marauder,  forbore  to  frighten  it.  Instead,  he  watched 
the  mouse  make  its  meal,  telling  himself  the  while  that  it 
was  relishing  the  meat  far  more  than  he  would  have  done, 
and  he  watched  it  when  at  last  it  turned  tail  to  go  back 
to  its  timorous  fellows.  To  his  thinking,  it  moved  less 
nimbly  than  was  the  custom  of  such  creatures,  and  then, 
as  he  watched  it  carelessly,  he  saw  the  mouse  give  a  kind  of 
quivering  jump,  run  a  few  inches  in  a  distracted  half  circle, 
and  fall  upon  its  side. 

For  the  first  whirling  moments  Jock  was  very  steady. 
This  was  the  mere  fever  work  of  his  brain,  he  told  himself, 
and  he  shut  his  eyes,  confident  that  when  he  looked  again  he 
should  find  that  the  sight  had  vanished.  He  could  feel  the 
blood  pulsing  frantically  in  his  temples,  but  he  held  his  eyes 
shut  while  he  counted  twoscore,  and  then  he  looked,  and  there, 
as  he  last  had  seen  it,  lay  the  little  dead  mouse.  With  sudden 
violence  he  scrambled  to  his  knees  and  snatched  up  the  little 


234  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

body.    He  found  it  real  to  the  touch,  a  little,  soft  dead  thing 
that  had  died  eating  of  the  meat  that  was  meant  for  him. 

With  a  sharp  cry  that  startled  his  own  ears  and  made  a 
hideous  echoing  in  that  place  of  darkness,  Jock  hurled  the 
dead  thing  from  him,  and  in  the  same  gesture  dropped  down 
with  his  face  hidden  in  his  manacled  hands.  For  one  instant 
still  he  fought  blindly  to  regain  his  courage,  and  then,  with  a 
horrible  sense  of  perishing,  he  felt  himself  beaten  under  by 
the  black  waves  of  panic  terror. 

How  he  had  come  thither  he  could  not  tell,  but  he  found 
himself  staggering  up  the  staircase,  and  he  heard  his  voice, 
strained  and  altered,  that  now  cursed,  and  now  prayed  aloud. 
Behind  him  was  stark  horror  and  darkness  that  swarmed 
with  shapes  of  fear.  Before  him,  somewhere,  was  a  door  on 
which  he  meant  to  beat  and  to  cry  aloud,  begging  them  as 
there  was  a  God,  as  there  was  pity  in  the  hearts  of  men,  to 
let  him  out  where  there  was  light  and  human  faces,  to  let 
him  out,  else  he  should  go  mad ! 

But  when  he  reeled  at  last  against  the  solid  door  and  heard 
the  iron  of  his  handcuffs  clang  against  the  iron  of  the  latch, 
he  sensed  the  hopelessness  of  what  he  had  set  out  to  do.  In 
that  household,  where  in  the  ghastly  semblance  of  compassion 
they  had  set  poisoned  meat  before  him,  he  could  look  to  no 
man  for  mercy.  With  sudden  yielding  of  all  his  tortured 
body,  he  dropped  down  on  the  step  where  he  stood  and 
crouched  against  the  implacable  door.  Then,  in  the  bitter 
dark,  he  heard  a  sound  of  strangled  sobbing,  and  he  knew 
that  his  hope  was  gone  and  his  courage  was  broken  and  his 
spirit  crushed  within  him,  and  without  power  even  to  feel 
resentment  at  that  thought,  he  told  himself  that  Wogan 
would  be  very  glad. 


CHAPTER  XXI 


DAY  OF  RECKONING 


Some  four  hours  later  as  time  is  measured  by  the  clock,  an 
age  later  as  it  is  measured  by  human  suffering,  the  door  of 
the  cellar  was  thrown  open,  and  Jock  fell  forward  limply, 
head  and  shoulders  on  the  floor  without.  He  had  remem- 
bered the  old  buttery  as  a  place  of  dim  light,  but  now  he 
found  himself  so  dazzled  with  the  flood  of  crass  brightness 
that  he  thrust  up  his  hands  to  guard  his  eyes,  and  though 
he  heard  about  him  the  voices  of  men,  he  could  distinguish 
no  more  than  the  white  blur  of  their  faces. 

Some  one  unlocked  his  handcuffs  as  he  lay,  and  flung  them 
clattering  to  the  other  side  of  the  room.  "What  a  plague !" 
stormed  a  voice  that  he  knew  for  the  voice  of  Lieutenant  Phil. 
*'  Will  you  do  to  death  a  man  that  may  be  of  use  to  us  ?  It's 
well  I  had  warning  of  your  purpose,  Lambert." 

Jock  sat  up,  because  Lieutenant  Phil  caught  him  by  the 
arm  and  neither  strength  nor  spirit  to  resist  was  in  him. 
He  saw  the  Lieutenant  bending  over  him,  and  beyond  the 
Lieutenant  stood  Wogan,  frowning,  hands  in  pockets,  and 
beside  Wogan  stood  the  chestnut-haired  Philip.  This  time 
the  chestnut-haired  Philip  was  not  smiling.  His  face  was 
white  and  thin  and  eager,  and  his  narrowed  eyes  no  longer 
blinked. 

"I  warned  you  fairly !"  Jock  grew  aware  of  the  words  that 
the  chestnut-haired  Philip  was  saying.  "  Lambert  Wogan,  I 
warned  you  fairly,  and  I'll  bring  witnesses  thereto.    I  told 

285 


236  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

you  the  old  cellar  was  a  very  bed  of  fever  and  of  pestilence. 
'Tis  your  blame  if  this  man  die." 

"Die?"  scoffed  Lieutenant  Phil.  "Who  talks  of  dying? 
You're  worth  a  heap  of  dead  men,  eh,  Hetherington  ? " 

With  his  last  remnant  of  stubborn  strength  Jock  set  his 
lips,  for  only  too  well  he  knew  that  if  he  opened  them,  he 
should  beg  aloud  for  mercy.  Dumb  and  unresisting,  he 
leaned  against  the  wall  where  he  sat,  and  knew  himself  be- 
yond the  point  where  he  could  even  wonder  what  would  befall 
him  next.  After  a  moment  he  was  again  aware  of  Lieutenant 
Phil  bending  over  him,  and  Lieutenant  Phil  held  a  cup  of  wine 
and  was  trying  to  make  him  drink.  To  eat  or  drink  what 
came  from  the  house  of  Graystones  was  now  to  Jock  a  sheer 
nightmare  of  horror.  With  an  upthrust  of  the  elbow  he  sent 
the  cup  flying,  and  in  the  same  movement  caught  the  Lieu- 
tenant's arm. 

"Take  me  hence!"  he  choked.  "For  the  love  of  God, 
take  me  out  of  this  house !" 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met,  and  for  once  in  his  life  Lieu- 
tenant Phil,  already  suspicious,  and  with  his  own  interests 
involved,  contrived  to  grasp  an  idea  with  tolerable  quickness. 
Still  bending  over  Jock,  he  spoke  to  Wogan:  "Come,  Lam- 
bert, don't  stand  too  stiffly  upon  the  condition  that  you 
named.  Let  the  poor  rascal  go  free  of  the  cellar  now.  Until 
Rafe  comes,  I'll  keep  him  in  my  custody,  there  at  Herons- 
wood  —  " 

Wogan  had  remained  obdurately  silent,  but  as  the  Lieu- 
tenant unfolded  his  purpose,  the  chestnut-haired  Philip 
interposed.  "God's  death,  no!"  he  cried  with  startUng 
vehemence.  "  Wogan !  You'll  never  consent  to  such  folly  ? 
You'll  not  let  this  treacherous  hound  cozen  you  and  so  escape 
again?    Lock  him  down  into  the  cellar,  I  say !" 

Next  instant  the  smouldering  warfare  between  the  two 
Philips  was  kindled,  to  Jock's  good  fortune,  to  a  furious  blaze. 


DAY  OF  RECKONTNG  237 

"Ay,  into  the  cellar  that  you  just  swore  was  a  bed  of  fever !" 
mocked  Lieutenant  Phil.  "  Belike,  sir,  'tis  your  bent  to  slay 
this  man?" 

The  Lieutenant  flung  out  the  words,  a  mere  rough  taunt, 
to  win  a  reply  in  kind,  but  what  he  won,  most  surprisingly, 
was  first,  a  furious  short  exclamation  from  the  chestnut- 
haired  Philip,  and  then,  from  the  same  source,  an  open- 
handed  blow  that  only  missed  his  face  because  Wogan, 
interposing,  caught  the  assailant's  arm. 

"Will  you  name  me  a  murderer  —  a  privy  assassin?"  raged 
the  chestnut-haired  Philip,  as  he  struggled  to  free  himself 
from  Wogan's  hold.  "I've  borne  a  deal  from  you  and  all 
your  house,  but  this  last  I  will  not  bear.  Cousin,  you  shall 
fight  me  for  this." 

"Sneck  up!"  said  Wogan,  with  all  the  contempt  of  a  pro- 
lessional  soldier  for  a  noisy  braggart.  "You're  no  fighting 
man."  He  thrust  the  chestnut-haired  Philip  aside,  and  turn- 
ing his  back  upon  him,  addressed  his  lieutenant:  "Ay,  Phil, 
you  shall  take  Hetherington  to  your  custody.  I'll  wager  he's 
had  that  will  cure  him  of  any  more  attempting  of  escapes." 

"But — "  the  chestnut-haired  Philip  began. 

Across  his  shoulder  Wogan  bespoke  Philip,  briefly  and  to 
the  point :  "  I  know  not  what  knavery  you  are  hatching,  you 
that  have  the  knack  to  find  papers  behind  wainscots,  but  I 
know  that  if  you  be  so  set  to  have  Hetherington  lie  in  the 
Graystones  cellar,  'tis  reason  good  for  the  friends  of  Rafe 
Heyroun  to  pack  him  off  to  Heronswood.  Take  him  thither, 
Phil,  ay,  and  see  that  you  waste  no  time  about  it." 

On  this  permission  —  a  permission  that  well  might  be 
withdrawn,  when  Wogan's  anger  against  the  chestnut- 
haired  Philip  had  cooled  —  Lieutenant  Phil  acted  promptly. 
That  same  hour  he  took  Jock,  who  for  once  in  his  life  was 
civil,  circumspect,  and  surprising  quiet,  and  conveyed  him 
to  Heronswood  village  on  a  horse  impressed  from  the  Gray- 


238  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

stones  stable.  At  Heronswood  there  was  no  doctor  at  hand, 
so  the  Lieutenant,  who  was  better  versed  in  stable-lore  than 
in  physic,  prescribed  for  Jock  much  the  same  drench  that  he 
would  have  prescribed  for  a  sick  colt.  After  he  had  seen  him 
down  it,  a  task  that  Jock  accomplished,  thanks  to  the  fact 
that  the  basic  elements  of  the  draught  were  eggs  and  wine, 
the  Lieutenant  had  him  locked  into  the  loft  of  the  stable 
adjoining  his  own  quarters,  with  a  couple  of  blankets  and  a 
jug  of  water  for  his  further  comfort,  and  left  him  thus  to 
work  out  his  own  cure. 

In  the  loft  Jock  had  at  least  a  pile  of  hay,  wherein  he  made 
himself  a  warm  and  comfortable  bed,  and  in  the  stable  below 
he  could  hear  the  movement  and  voices  of  men  and  the  stamp 
of  horses  that  cheered  him  with  a  sense  of  near  companion- 
ship, and  through  the  shutterless  windows  he  could  get  clear 
air  in  plenty  and  by  day  the  sunlight  and  at  night  the  stars. 
After  the  Graystones  cellar  he  found  the  loft  a  kind  of  para- 
dise, and  with  all  the  will  of  his  tough  and  wiry  body  he  be- 
gan to  cast  off  the  fever  that  was  on  him  and  to  fight  for  his 
old  strength.  By  the  second  evening  of  this,  his  latest  cap- 
tivity, he  sat  up  and  resolutely  ate  the  bread  and  meat  that 
was  brought  him,  and  when  next  morning  he  was  told  that 
he  could  come  down  into  the  stable,  an  he  would,  he  came 
down,  with  a  tolerably  firm  carriage. 

But  though  Jock  saw  an  excellent  chance  of  soon  recover- 
ing his  bodily  health,  he  knew  at  heart,  and  sickened  at  the 
knowledge,  that  he  had  lost  something  far  more  precious 
than  mere  strength  of  muscle.  He  winced  to  realize  that 
Lieutenant  Phil  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  ask  his  parole, 
but  contemptuously  suffered  him  to  lounge  about  the  stable- 
yard,  as  if  he  knew  him  too  spiritless  to  attempt  escape,  and 
he  found  still  more  bitter  the  realization  that  in  this  the 
Lieutenant  had  read  him  aright.  Assuredly  he  would  not 
try  to  escape;  he  would  not,  in  any  way,  by  deed,  or  word. 


DAY  OP  RECKONING  239 

or  even  look,  run  the  risk  of  offending  Lieutenant  Phil,  whom 
up  to  that  hour  he  had  so  despised,  and  thus  challenging  a 
return  to  Graystones  and  the  dark  cellar. 

When  he  thought  upon  it  closely,  in  the  long  leisure  that 
now  was  his,  Jock  knew  whom  he  had  to  thank  for  dealing 
him  this  last,  most  subtle,  injury.  There  were  many  at  Gray- 
stones  that  hated  him,  but  chief  of  all  were  Wogan,  and 
Blanche  Mallory,  and  the  chestnut-haired  Philip,  and  of  the 
three,  to  poison  a  man  in  the  dark  was  not  Lambert  Wogan's 
way.  Hating  Wogan,  and  with  good  cause,  Jock  did  him 
none  the  less  the  justice  to  acquit  him  of  that  charge.  With 
equal  certainty  he  felt  that  either  Blanche  or  Philip,  or  the 
two  in  league,  might  well  have  taken  this  means  to  rid  them- 
selves of  him,  and  of  this  suspicion  he  drew  a  damning  con- 
firmation from  Philip's  outbreak  at  the  time  of  his  release 
from  the  cellar. 

"  One  day  I  will  cry  quits  with  him  for  that  dish  of  meat !" 
Jock  vowed,  and  then,  in  prompt  reaction,  scoffed  at  himself 
for  a  piteous  braggart.  If  Philip  should  confront  him  at  that 
moment,  he  knew  that,  lessoned  by  the  Graystones  cellar,  he 
were  far  more  likely  to  shrink  from  him  than  to  face  him 
boldly. 

On  the  fourth  morning  of  his  stay  at  Heronswood,  a  Thurs- 
day, Jock  dropped  down  the  ladder  from  the  loft  to  find  the 
troopers  on  duty  at  the  stable  stirred  to  unwonted  speech 
among  themselves.  From  the  very  air  he  caught  the  sense 
of  events  impending,  and  he  wondered,  but  held  his  tongue. 
Presently,  as  he  stood  in  a  little-used  doorway  at  the  rear  of 
the  stable,  where  he  was  listlessly  watching  some  bedrabbled 
white  ducks  that  were  splashing  in  a  miry  pool,  one  of  the 
men,  too  desirous  of  a  listener  to  pick  and  choose,  halted  at 
his  side. 

"Praise  God,"  said  the  trooper,  "we'll  soon  be  looking  our 
last  on  this  pestilent  muddy  country.    To  Hertford  we  go 


240  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

now,  and  then  where  Heaven  wills,  though  'tis  to  be  hoped 
we  may  bear  a  hand  in  the  Lord's  good  work  of  chastising 
the  accursed  Irishry.  We  have  our  orders  to  march  hence 
upon  the  Saturday." 

Dully,  Jock  wondered  how  this  withdrawal  of  the  troops 
from  Heronswood  might  affect  him,  but  before  he  could 
bring  himself  to  question  his  informant,  a  second  trooper 
joined  them  in  the  doorway. 

"Look  you,  Tom,"  the  newcomer  spoke  to  the  first  man, 
"this  order  means  that  our  captain  must  wed  in  haste,  or 
else  bide  a  time." 

Then,  to  all  appearance,  the  pair  forgot  Jock,  while,  like  a 
couple  of  village  gossips,  they  discussed  Captain  Wogan's 
affairs.  The  second  trooper,  a  cheerful  rascal,  who  most  mal- 
advisedly  had  been  christened  Resignation,  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  riding  on  Sundays  to  Barbroke,  where  a  preacher 
of  peculiarly  edifying  gifts  held  forth,  so  that  he  was  able 
now  to  state  with  authority  that  the  banns  had  been  twice 
called  between  Lambert  Wogan  and  Blanche  Mallory,  spin- 
ster. "And  unless  I  misread  Squire  Wogan,"  he  concluded 
with  some  heat,  "he'll  be  married  orderly  and  regular  in 
Barbroke  church  like  his  fathers  afore  him,  or  not  at  all." 

To  this  the  trooper  called  Tom  objected  vigorously,  saying 
that  the  Popish  superstition  of  solemnizing  a  marriage  in  a 
church  was  now  outworn  among  the  elect  and  godly,  of  whose 
number  surely  was  Captain  Wogan.  No  doubt  he  would 
summon  an  independent  clergyman  from  Clegden  and  make 
his  marriage  when  and  where  it  pleased  him,  and  thus  prove 
a  shining  example  to  waverers  who  looked  back  to  Sodom, 
even  as  did  Lot's  foolish  wife,  he  added,  with  pointed  refer- 
ence to  the  cheerful  Resignation. 

The  argument,  having  now  taken  a  theological  turn,  might 
have  gone  on  indefinitely,  but  at  that  moment  one  of  the  lads 
that  hung  about  the  stable  raised  a  cry  that  Captain  Wogan 


DAY  OF  RECKONING  241 

was  just  riding  into  the  yard.  Promptly  the  two  disputants 
hastened  about  the  tasks  that  in  their  zeal  for  controversy 
they  had  left  undone,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  slight  confusion 
Jock  swung  himself  up  the  ladder  and  withdrew  to  the  depths 
of  his  loft. 

It  was  not  because  he  dreaded  to  meet  Wogan  that  he  had 
hurried  away,  Jock  assured  himself,  and  even  in  the  assurance 
knew  that  he  lied.  The  most  that  he  could  find  courage  to  do, 
was  to  stand  at  the  window  and  look  down  at  Wogan,  and  as 
he  stood  thus,  he  fell  to  wondering  what  Wogan  was  thinking 
about  the  marriage  that  was  now  so  near.  Surely,  a  set 
mouth  and  a  harassed  scowl  and  a  voice  edged  with  irrita- 
tion were  not  the  tokens  of  a  happily  expectant  bridegroom. 

"  He  betrothed  himself  in  haste,"  Jock  reviewed  the  knowl- 
edge that  he  had  gained  from  Althea.  "He  had  the  banns 
called  at  once,  largely  to  contrary  his  kinswomen  that  did 
oppose,  and  now  that  he  is  like  to  be  married,  he  finds  he 
has  a  question,  touching  the  gentlewoman,  still  unan- 
swered." 

For  a  little  time  Jock  found  comfort  of  a  vengeful  sort  in 
musing  on  the  snare  in  which  his  triumphant  enemy  was  limed, 
but  he  lost  hold  on  that  comfort  when  that  same  day  he  was 
ordered  to  present  himself  at  Lieutenant  Heyroun's  quarters. 
He  went  thither,  steady  of  bearing,  but  at  heart  in  terror 
lest  he  encounter  Wogan.  To  his  relief  he  found  only  Lieu- 
tenant Phil  awaiting  him,  and  from  the  Lieutenant,  who 
was  mindful  of  his  brother's  policy  in  like  case,  he  received 
no  harder  commands  than  to  shave  and  freshen  himself  as 
much  as  possible  against  the  coming  of  those  who  should 
identify  him. 

"Rafe  is  minded  to  stay  yet  a  time  longer  in  London," 
said  Phil,  who  lounged  in  a  chair  hard  by  while  Jock  was 
busied  with  the  razors.  "  'Tis  a  rogue,  that  brother  of  mine  1 
Never  does  he  turn  his  back  on  Draycote  but  he  makes  pre- 


242  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

text  to  bide  away  two  months,  though  one  would  serve  his 
turn  as  well.  But  Esdras  Inchcome  is  a  truepenny  of  another 
stamp.  He  will  be  here  surely  this  day  or  the  next.  I  sent 
him  a  message,  haste-post-haste,  so  soon  as  my  good  cousin 
brought  forward  his  forged  will.  We  can  trust  Esdras  Inch- 
come." 

In  the  mood  of  nervous  expectancy  that  was  on  him  the 
Lieutenant  seemed  thankful  to  unburden  himself  to  any  one, 
even  to  Jock,  and,  emboldened  by  this  outpouring  of  confi- 
dences, Jock  at  last  ventured  the  question  that  he  longed 
to  have  answered.  "  If  it  Uke  you.  Lieutenant,  tell  me,  how 
came  it  to  pass  that  you  got  news  of  the  straits  that  I  was 
in,  there  at  Graystones?"  ^^ 

Lieutenant  Phil  stared,  and  then  answered  with  a  laugh 
that  made  Jock  wish  that  he  had  left  the  question  unasked. 
"Faith,  you're  wearing  your  aspects  of  innocence  somewhat 
threadbare !  Why,  you  rascal,  I  had  a  message  from  a  kind 
friend  of  yours,  my  prim  cousin  Lovewell  —  if  you  do  not 
feign  to  have  forgot  the  name.  She  sent  one  of  the  serving 
wenches  to  tell  me  you  were  being  done  to  death,  and  as  I 
loved  her,  or  as  she  loved  you,  or  I  know  not  what  passionate 
form  of  words,  I  was  to  leap  into  the  matter." 

With  that  answer  and  the  manner  in  which  it  was  made  to 
lay  to  heart,  Jock  went  back  to  his  loft.  In  the  night  hours 
when  he  lay  wakeful  he  thought  much  of  Althea,  and  he  found 
a  new,  dull  pain  in  the  realization  that  in  losing  his  courage 
he  had  lost  his  hope  of  aiding  her.  Almost  he  prayed  that 
he  might  never  see  her  again,  to  read  in  her  eyes  the  knowl- 
edge that  must  be  there  that  he  had  come  back  to  her  an 
altered  and  broken  man,  yet,  against  reason,  for  all  the  pain 
that  in  such  a  meeting  he  must  suffer,  he  knew  that  at  heart 
he  longed  to  see  her.  So  when,  next  morning,  he  was  bidden 
mount  and  ride  to  Graystones,  he  made  ready  in  a  twofold 
mind,  dreading  to  set  foot  again  in  the  house  that  he  shud- 


DAY  OF  RECKONING  243 

dered  only  to  remember,  yet  hoping  that  from  afar  he  might 
set  eyes  upon  the  girl  that  he  had  loved. 

As  Jock  was  shortening  the  stirrup  leather  to  his  liking,  in 
the  moment  while  the  squad  that  was  detailed  as  escort 
waited  for  the  word  to  ride,  the  trooper  called  Tom  turned 
and  spoke  to  him.  "  Come,  sirrah,"  said  Tom,  "  bear  me  wit- 
ness that  I  said  it.  There's  been  a  messenger  sent  unto 
Clegden  to  fetch  that  worthy  independent  clergyman,  Mr. 
Dipworth.  Even  as  I  foretold,  this  will  be  the  Captain's 
wedding-day." 

"Don't  ye  be  too  sure!"  said  the  trooper  called  Resigna- 
tion, who  obviously,  in  his  time,  had  had  ale  and  gossip  with 
the  wenches  in  the  Graystones  kitchen.  "Did  not  the  lad 
from  Graystones  that  told  of  their  sending  to  Clegden  say 
also  that  the  lawyer  fellow  was  come  back  from  London? 
Mark  my  word,  where  that  old  fox  comes,  some  are  like  to  be 
left  in  the  suds." 

There  the  discussion  ended,  for  at  that  moment  Lieutenant 
Phil  came  briskly  from  his  quarters,  and  swung  into  his 
saddle.  Straight  for  Graystones  the  little  squad  was  headed 
at  a  round  pace,  for  the  Lieutenant,  eager  for  the  moment,  now 
so  near,  when  Esdras  Inchcome  should  make  all  right,  did 
not  spare  spur.  Almost  before  Jock  had  time  to  realize  what 
the  next  hour  might  hold  for  him,  they  were  drawing  rein  in 
the  paved  court  at  Graystones,  and  through  the  open  door 
of  the  stable  he  had  a  glimpse  of  Inchcome's  hackney  and  of 
other  horses  that  he  did  not  recognize.  Then  he  was  follow- 
ing at  the  Lieutenant's  heels  across  the  great  quadrangle  and 
through  chill  passages,  where  he  shivered,  remembering  to 
what  he  last  had  gone  by  that  same  road,  and  presently  he 
stood  in  the  old  hall,  that  once  before  had  been  the  scene  of 
his  trial. 

With  a  feeling  that  all  that  had  been  done  was  now  most 
drearily  to  be  repeated,  Jock  looked  about  him,  and  he  saw 


244  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Inchcome,  precise  and  courteous,  seated  in  liis  old  place  at 
the  great  table  with  a  flagon  of  canary  at  his  elbow,  and  he 
saw  the  chestnut-haired  Philip  standing  on  the  hearth,  and 
Wogan  leaning  restlessly  on  the  back  of  a  tall  chair.  But, 
as  it  had  not  been  at  the  time  of  his  first  coming  thither, 
Jock  saw  also,  seated  at  the  table,  the  man  that  once  he  had 
beaten,  the  Yorkshire-born  lawyer,  Symon  Wastel,  red  of 
face  and  black  of  hair,  and  he  saw  Mistress  Difficult,  with 
a  face  of  beaming  triumph,  and  hard  by  her,  with  downcast 
eyes  and  hands  that  moved  nervously  upon  her  lap,  he  saw 
Mistress  Mallory.  He  noted  that  she  wore  a  silken  gown 
of  deep  wine  color,  that  he  remembered  to  have  seen  before, 
and  he  wondered  if  she  were  arrayed  against  her  wedding. 

Then  Inchcome,  turning  from  the  Lieutenant,  curtly  bade 
Jock  be  seated,  and  Jock,  catching  the  glance  of  the  chest- 
nut-haired Philip,  sat  down  on  a  bench  by  the  door  where 
he  could  keep  his  back  against  the  wall,  and  with  suspicious 
eyes  he  watched  all  that  went  on  about  him.  Beneath  Inch- 
come's  hand,  he  noted,  lay  a  formal  parchment,  and  Lieu- 
tenant Phil  too  had  noted  the  paper,  and  pointed  to  it  with 
a  contemptuous  gesture. 

"  Have  you  looked  upon  that  forgery,  sir  ? "  the  Lieutenant 
questioned,  and  thereat  Mistress  Difficult  sniffed  aloud. 

In  answer  Inchcome  gave  a  leisurely  glance  about  the 
room.  "'Tis  pity  that  Mr.  Martin  Heyroun  is  not  here," 
he  said.  "You  tell  me  that  he  has  returned,  and  his  good 
wife  with  him,  into  Essex,  upon  the  finding  of  this  document. 
And  young  Parson  Jarvis,  you  say — " 

"  He  has  gone  a- visiting  to  Cambridge,"  the  parson's  mother 
eagerly  explained. 

"Ah,  yes!"  said  Inchcome.  "And  your  niece.  Mistress 
Lovewell,  keeps  her  chamber,  too  ill  to  come  among  us." 

Again  Mistress  Difficult  sniffed. 

"Well!"    said  Inchcome,  and  skilled  though  he  was,  let 


DAY  OF  RECKONING  245 

sound  in  his  voice  a  note  of  what  was  perilously  akin  to 
disappointment,  "I  have  looked  upon  this  parchment,  even 
as  you  question  me.  Lieutenant  Heyroun.  It  is  in  very  truth 
the  will  that  in  the  month  of  February  of  this  same  year  I 
drew  up  for  your  deceased  uncle,  Philip  Heyroun." 

"  I  hope  that  he  has  won  grace,"  said  Mistress  Difficult, 
aloud. 

"Go  on !"  bade  Lieutenant  Phil,  in  a  voice  that  was  thick 
in  his  throat. 

"By  the  provisions  of  this  will,"  Inchcome  continued  in 
the  same  formal  tone,  "  all  female  heirs  of  the  deceased  Philip 
receive  a  bequest  of  one  shilling  each,  all  male  heirs  ten  shil- 
ings,  save  and  excepting  his  beloved  nephew  Philip,  son  to 
his  brother  Benjamin  deceased,  to  whom  he  leaves  the  entire 
estate,  the  said  bequests  excepted,  whereof  he  dies  pos- 
sessed." 

There  was  an  instant  of  silence  in  which  was  audible  the 
Lieutenant's  sudden  intake  of  breath,  and  then  he  rounded 
upon  his  chestnut-haired  cousin.  "There's  another  will," 
he  said,  gulping  out  the  words,  "  the  will  that  was  drawn  up 
in  May  —  the  will  that  you  and  your  accomplice  stole  — " 

"Who  says  I  stole  it?"  cried  the  chestnut-haired  Philip, 
in  a  voice  that  rose  boldly  to  meet  the  other's  passion. 

The  Lieutenant  pointed  to  Jock,  and  the  chestnut-haired 
Philip  smiled,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "  I  scarce  need 
to  give  the  lie  to  such  a  witness?"  he  said  courteously  to 
Inchcome. 

With  a  familiar  gesture,  Inchcome  shaded  his  eyes  with 
his  hand  as  he  sat,  and  thus  screened,  glanced  from  the  speaker 
to  Jock,  and  back  again.  "  Mr.  Heyroun,"  said  he,  in  a  tone 
of  gentle  query  that  the  sharp  glance  of  his  eyes  belied,  "  who 
is  that  man  sits  yonder?" 

In  the  hall  two  people,  at  least,  waited  as  eagerly  as  did  Jock 
for  the  forthcoming  answer.    Aware  of  their  movements,  even 


246  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

in  his  own  expectancy,  Jock  knew  that  Wogan  had  leaned  a 
little  forward  and  that  Blanche  Mallory  had  lifted  her  head 
and  was  staring  with  horrified  eyes  upon  the  speaker.  For 
an  instant  the  chestnut-haired  Philip  hesitated  and  then, 
baffled,  as  Jock  suspected,  in  his  honest  purpose  to  have 
put  the  witness  to  his  trickery  underground,  safe  beyond 
reach  of  troublesome  identification,  he  took  the  one  bold 
course  that  was  left  him. 

"That  knave  yonder?"  Philip  said  with  an  easy  nod  in 
Jock's  direction.  "  Why,  he  may  be  whom  the  devil  pleases, 
but  this  I  know,  he  is  not  that  Captain  Hetherington  who 
was  here  in  June,  the  one  whom  you  are  pleased  to  call  my 
friend." 

"You  said — "  began  Lieutenant  Phil,  and  stopped,  cut 
short,  as  Wogan,  for  the  first  time,  spoke  a  word. 

"Then  you  must  have  lied,"  said  Wogan,  slowly,  but  it  did 
not  seem  to  be  the  chestnut-haired  Philip  at  whom  he  flung 
the  charge. 

Unruffled,  with  a  little  smile,  even,  the  chestnut-haired 
Philip  sm-veyed  the  lowering  faces  that  confronted  him. 
"Sirs,"  said  he,  "I  was  mistaken  in  the  fellow's  identity  on 
that  first  night,  when  I  saw  him  imshaven  and  haggard. 
Now  I  do  retract  my  harmless  error,  even,  my  good  cousin 
Philip,  as  did  your  worthy  mother,  my  Aunt  Henrietta." 

That  word  stopped  the  Lieutenant's  mouth.  Helpless,  he 
swallowed  in  his  throat  and  stood  fidgeting  with  his  sword 
hilt. 

Meantime  the  Yorkshire  man,  Wastel,  that  was  no  friend 
to  Jock,  struck  in :  "  You  are  scurvily  served.  Captain  Wogan. 
That  young  ruffian  sits  yonder  is  not  Squire  Hetherington  of 
Broxby.  He's  but  a  hangby  of  the  family,  the  Parson's  Jock, 
a  penniless  rogue  from  whom  you'll  get  no  ransom.  Best 
ship  him  into  Barbadoes  and  done  with,  I  counsel  you." 

Wogan  put  up  his  hand  with  a  sudden  gesture  that  wag 


DAY  OF  RECKONING  247 

dignified.  "Will  you  be  silent?"  he  bade,  and  in  that  silence 
went  to  Blanche  Mallory,  and  at  his  coming  the  girl  seemed 
to  shrink.  "  Mistress,"  said  he,  and  took  her  hand  and  made 
her  rise,  "  look  once  more  upon  that  man  yonder  and  tell  me 
who  he  is.  And  you,  sirrah!"  he  flung  out  at  Jock,  with  a 
passion  that  made  the  girl  beside  him  tremble.     "  Stand  up !" 

Jock  stood  up,  and,  shoulders  to  the  wall,  fronted  Blanche 
Mallory  across  the  width  of  the  room,  just  as  he  had  fronted 
her  on  that  night  six  weeks  before.  On  that  night  when  she 
had  lightly  told  the  lie  that  was  to  be  her  stumbling  block, 
she  had  smiled,  radiant  and  unafraid,  but  now  she  did  not 
smile,  and  her  eyes  were  wide,  and  her  lips  were  drawn  thin. 
The  chestnut-haired  Philip  might  eat  his  lie  if  he  would, 
with  the  cynical  comfort  that  he  could  not  be  reached  by 
law ;  for  the  thoughts  of  men  he  had  no  care,  but  she,  who  had 
striven  solely  for  the  regard  of  that  one  grim  man  beside  her, 
had  no  such  easy  way  of  escape.  Twice  she  moistened  her 
lips  and  tried  to  speak  and  failed,  sensing  ruin,  whether  she 
held  stoutly  to  her  first  story  with  Symon  Wastel  there  in 
presence  to  deny  her,  or  whether  she  retracted,  when  she 
must  answer  the  inevitable  second  question:  Why  had  she 
lied  at  the  outset? 

"Lambert!"  she  started  to  plead,  with  a  quivering  of  the 
lips  that  once  had  moved  him,  but  now  the  man  that  she  had 
played  with  stood  unmoved. 

"Who  is  this  fellow?"  Wogan  repeated,  and  then,  at  the 
limit  of  patience,  with  an  involuntary  gesture  like  that  with 
which  aforetime  he  twice  had  throttled  Jock,  he  lifted  his 
hand. 

Blanche  saw,  and  something  within  her  understood.  With 
a  shriek  of  animal  terror,  she  tore  her  hand  from  his  and 
staggered  back  against  the  table.  In  her  movement  she  over- 
set the  flagon,  and  the  wine,  in  a  heavy  stream,  crawled  across 
the  table.     "No,  no!"   she  cried.     "I  am  no  wife  of  yours. 


248  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

You  have  no  right.  Even  though  I  lied.  I  shall  never  be 
wife  of  yours.  Oh,  I  do  thank  God  for  that  I  I  shall  never 
be  wife  of  yours!" 

Amidst  the  outpouring  of  her  hysteria  that  at  last  was 
genuine,  Wogan  wheeled  upon  Jock.  "You,  sir!"  he  raised 
his  voice  to  be  heard.  "Give  me  now  your  story.  What 
befell  that  day  in  the  gallery  —  the  day  of  my  betrothal?" 

Jock  met  Wogan's  eyes,  and  mindful  of  much  that  he  was 
owing  to  this  man,  laughed  aloud,  and  saw  Wogan  wince  at 
the  sound.  "Overlate  for  my  story!"  he  cried  above  the 
girl's  noisy  sobbing.  "Believe  the  gentlewoman,  and  God 
give  you  joy  of  her  —  you  that  were  fain  to  batten  on  the 
meat  that  my  cousin  had  mangled!" 

With  all  his  heart  Jock  had  believed  that  Wogan  would 
strike  him  down  for  the  insult,  but  to  his  amazement  Wogan 
stood  quiet,  and  when  he  spoke,  after  a  long  minute,  got 
out  the  words  with  heavy  effort.  "Phil!"  said  Wogan,  "do 
you  take  him  hence  —  Hetherington,  I  mean  —  out  of  my 
sight.  For  God's  sake,  take  him  hence !  Let  me  never  look 
upon  him  more." 

On  the  threshold,  as  he  followed  the  Lieutenant  from  the 
room,  Jock  cast  a  glance  behind  him.  He  saw  the  startled 
faces  of  the  folk  within  the  hall,  and  he  saw  Blanche  Mallory, 
sobbing  with  her  head  sunk  upon  the  table  by  which  she 
crouched,  and  he  saw  Wogan  standing,  as  if  stricken,  in  the 
spot  where  he  had  been  at  last  convinced  of  her  trickery. 
Wogan's  lips  twitched  and  his  eyes  were  set  dully.  The 
wine  was  dripping  from  the  table,  and  the  sticky  pool,  broad- 
ening upon  the  floor,  had  reached  and  stained  the  hem  of  the 
gown  that  Mistress  Mallory  had  donned  against  her  wedding. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE    BREAKING    OF   THE    BRIDECAKE 

For  a  half  hour  and  more  Jock  had  sat  kicking  his  heels 
on  a  form  in  the  old  buttery.  At  his  left  hand  was  the  door 
to  the  passage,  fast  bolted  without,  at  his  right  the  door  to 
the  cellar  that  he  remembered,  and  glancing  from  one  to  the 
other,  he  was  free  to  make  such  profitable  deductions  as  he 
pleased.  In  the  first  moments  he  had  given  little  heed  to  his 
own  concerns,  while  with  savage  satisfaction  he  reviewed  the 
happenings  in  the  hall  and  dwelt  on  Wogan's  stricken  look, 
but  as  time  passed  and  his  blood  cooled,  he  began  to  think 
uneasily  of  what  was  likely  to  befall  him. 

True,  he  was  now  acknowledged  not  to  be  Captain  Hether- 
ington,  after  six  weeks  of  suffering  in  the  Captain's  stead, 
but  he  was  still  a  friendless  prisoner,  and  what  was  worse, 
a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  Heyrouns.  With  growing 
apprehension  he  glanced  at  the  door  to  the  cellar,  and  with 
growing  uneasiness  strained  his  ears  for  the  welcome  sound, 
in  the  passage  without,  of  Lieutenant  Phil's  returning  to 
release  him. 

Minute  followed  minute,  and  Jock  had  worked  himself  to 
a  pitch  of  nervous  terror  like  to  that  in  which,  earlier  in  the 
morning,  he  had  entered  the  house,  when  at  last  he  heard  at 
his  door  the  clatter  of  the  bolt  withdrawn.  He  started  to  his 
feet,  hoping  against  hope  to  confront  Lieutenant  Phil  or  some 
one  of  the  buff-coated  men  in  whom,  because  they  followed  the 

249 


250  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

trade  of  arms,  he  had  a  Httle  trust,  and  he  felt  his  heart  sink 
as  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  one  of  the  serving  men 
of  the  household  that  was  now  the  household  of  the  chestnut- 
haired  Philip. 

"  I'm  sent  to  bring  you  into  the  hall.  Please  you  to  march," 
the  fellow  said  insolently,  and  though  Jock  inwardly  raged 
at  that  insolence,  and  raged  at  himself  for  submitting,  he  went 
quietly  whither  he  was  bidden.  He  was  but  one,  and  the 
household  of  Graystones  was  numerous,  and  the  door  to  the 
cellar  was  very  near,  and  those  three  facts,  strive  as  he  would, 
he  could  not  banish  from  his  mind. 

Once  again  he  found  himself  in  the  hall,  and  alert  for  danger, 
glanced  furtively  round  him.  The  room  that  an  hour  before 
had  rung  with  passionate  clamor  had  now  declined  into  a 
quiet  that,  to  his  suspicious  mood,  seemed  still  more  hostile. 
At  the  table  before  him  Inchcome  sat  alone,  and  with  eyes 
cast  down  and  face  like  a  mask  for  impassivity,  was  tying  up 
some  papers,  and  by  the  hearth,  in  his  old  place,  the  sole 
remaining  occupant  of  the  hall,  stood  the  chestnut-haired 
Philip.  He  kept  his  back  toward  Jock  and  to  all  appearance 
was  absorbed  in  thrusting  a  charred  brand  into  place  with 
the  toe  of  his  boot,  but  from  the  set  of  his  shoulders  Jock 
knew  that  the  man  was  aware  of  his  coming  and  intent  on 
all  that  passed. 

Conscious  always  of  Philip's  lowering  presence,  Jock  looked 
again  toward  Inchcome,  as  he  heard  him  clear  his  throat  to 
speak.  At  the  old  man's  elbow  stood  a  candle,  lighted  for 
the  purpose  of  sealing  the  papers,  and  upon  this  candle  Jock 
fixed  his  eyes.  He  held  that  the  unnatural  pale  gleam  of 
the  flame  against  the  daylight  was  a  fit  symbol  of  the 
unreality  of  the  events  among  which  he  groped. 

Said  Inchcome,  in  his  dryest  voice:  "Sir,  it  has  pleased 
Mr.  Heyroun  —  Rafe  Heyroun  of  Draycote  —  to  do  a  mad 
and  all  uncalled-for  deed  that  has  my  heartiest  disapproval. 


THE  BEEAKING  OF  THE  BRIDECAKE  251 

Against  my  counsel  he  has  ransomed  you  from  Captain 
Wogan." 

Jock  stared  upon  him,  too  crushed  even  to  draw  hope  from 
an  announcement  that,  a  fortnight  before,  would  have  heaped 
the  measure  of  his  joy.  While  he  stood  silent,  Inchcome  went 
on,  speaking  with  a  bitterness  that  was,  for  the  most  part, 
foreign  to  his  habit.  Of  a  truth,  and  so  Jock  understood 
later,  the  old  man  was  wearied  with  fruitless  planning  and 
long  journeying,  and  sorely  disappointed  at  the  final  turn  of 
affairs,  by  which  his  dead  friend's  estate  fell  to  that  branch 
of  the  family  to  which  he  had  least  love.  At  that  moment  he 
could  feel  little  kindness  toward  the  world,  and  that  mood  of 
exasperation  he  naturally  vented  upon  Jock,  who  stood  ready 
to  hand. 

"You  are  deeply  beholden  to  Mr.  Heyroun,"  Inchcome 
told  Jock,  "  yes,  and  to  Captain  Wogan,  who  set  your  ransom 
at  a  beggarly  sum.  In  return  'tis  understood  that  you  give 
your  promise  never  again  to  bear  arms  against  the  Parlia- 
ment, and  on  that  condition  you  are  free  to  go  your  way  — 
to  the  devil,  if  you  be  so  minded!" 

With  a  careless  gesture  that  in  itself  was  insult,  he  flicked 
a  paper  toward  Jock,  across  the  table.  "As  you  might  else 
be  hindered  on  your  way,  here  is  a  paper,  signed  by  me  as  one 
of  the  Quorum,  setting  forth  your  identity  to  the  best  of  my 
knowledge,  and  saying  that  you  have  been  ransomed  in  due 
form  and  are  returning  homeward.  Now  take  it  and  go, 
Hetherington  —  or  whatever  your  name  may  be !  —  and  I 
warn  you  fairly  that  if  I  find  you  loitering  within  my  juris- 
diction, I'll  have  you  set  in  the  stocks  as  a  common  vaga- 
bond." 

With  a  noisy  scrape  Inchcome  put  back  his  chair  and 
rose  from  table,  and  at  that  sound  the  chestnut-haired 
Philip  turned  from  the  fire.  "And  whither  now,  sir?"  he 
asked. 


252  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

"Home,  to  seek  a  night's  rest,"  Inchcome  spoke,  and  on 
the  word  passed  out  of  the  hall  and  closed  the  door  behind 
him. 

At  the  clang  of  the  door  that  penned  him  in  with  the  chest- 
nut-haired poisoner,  Jock  came  out  of  the  daze  into  which, 
at  the  astounding  news  of  his  change  of  fortune,  he  had  sunk. 
With  a  quick  gesture  he  caught  up  the  paper  that  had  been 
flung  him,  and  turned  to  follow  the  lawyer  from  the  room, 
when  he  heard  the  voice  that  he  had  expected  and  dreaded  to 
hear. 

"Sit  you  down,  Hetherington,"  said  the  chestnut-haired 
Philip,  in  his  old  assertive  tone.  "Before  you  quit  this 
house  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you.  Sit  down  —  unless  you 
fear  me !" 

Jock  had  wheeled  to  face  the  speaker,  ready  to  run  or  to 
fight,  anything  to  make  his  way  from  that  house,  but  at  that 
well-chosen  taunt  he  gave  over  his  purpose.  He  was  afraid 
to  stay,  yet  at  heart  he  was  more  afraid  of  betraying  his 
fear.  Nerving  himself,  he  went  to  the  table  and  sat  down 
on  the  edge  of  a  stool,  face  to  Philip,  Over  and  over  he  tried 
to  hearten  himself  with  the  thought :  "  A  little  time  ago  I  beat 
you,  Master  Philip,  ay,  and  made  you  to  cry  aloud  for  mercy. 
Your  friends  have  never  brought  me  so  low  as  I  brought  you, 
though  they  have  been  near  it."  But  he  found  this  boasting 
thought  of  slender  profit.  With  alert  eyes  he  watched  Philip, 
and  wondered,  should  Philip  raise  a  hand  against  him,  if 
he  still  had  the  courage  to  strike  back. 

Without  sign  of  hostile  purpose,  Philip  kept  his  place  at 
the  other  side  of  the  table,  while  he  studied  Jock  with  blink- 
ing eyes.  "You  claim  to  be  a  gentleman,  do  you  not?" 
he  asked  abruptly. 

"  I  am  a  gentleman,"  Jock  answered  in  a  tone  that,  for  all 
his  trying,  did  not  match  the  defiance  of  the  words. 

"  Then  I  make  no  doubt  you  are  ready  to  deal  honestly  by 


THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  BRIDECAKE  253 

the  girl  that  you  have  shamed.  I  speak  of  my  unhappy 
kinswoman,  Althea  Lovewell." 

Once  before  in  his  Ufe,  in  Lieutenant  Phil's  quarters  at 
Heronswood,  Jock  had  heard  the  girl  miscalled  and  had  stood 
silent.  He  was  not  minded  to  bear  himself  thus  a  second 
time.  In  her  behalf  he  strove  for  courage,  and  curiously, 
incomprehensibly,  found  that  he  had  more  spirit  to  champion 
her  than  he  had  mustered  to  defend  himself. 

"  You  choose  your  words  ill  in  regard  to  that  gentlewoman," 
he  said  slowly,  but  in  a  steadier  voice.  "  By  your  own  admis- 
sion I  am  not  Captain  Hetherington,  and  by  Mistress  Mallory's 
bearing  this  day  you  may  judge  what  credence  to  put  in 
her  testimony  when  she  gave  me  to  be  a  profligate  ruffian. 
Because  Mistress  Lovewell  was  kept  by  stress  of  weather 
beneath  the  roof  that  sheltered  me,  is  not  sufficient  reason 
for  you  to  miscall  her  thus." 

Philip  smiled,  his  thin-lipped,  hateful  smile.  "You  will 
need  use  more  than  words  to  make  your  peace  with  that 
wretched  child's  kinsmen,"  he  said. 

There  was  that  in  Philip's  tone  that  brought  Jock  to  his 
feet.  Very  clearly  he  saw  the  pretext,  under  cover  of  which, 
with  the  sympathy  of  all  men,  Philip  might  work  for  his  de- 
struction, and  by  an  impulse  which  he  loathed,  yet  could  not 
master,  he  made  a  step  toward  the  door. 

"Stand  where  you  are,"  said  Philip.  "That  fine,  swashing 
Wogan  and  his  men  have  left  Graystones,  but  I've  grooms 
and  lackeys  enough  at  my  call,  now  I  am  master  here,  and  I 
tell  you  plainly,  sirrah,  you  go  not  out  of  this  house  till  you 
right  the  girl." 

"You  will  compel  me  to  nothing,"  Jock  answered,  and  for 
very  hatred  of  the  man  before  him,  contrived  to  meet  his 
eyes  without  shrinking. 

To  all  appearance  Philip  was  deceived  by  that  mere  husk 
of  a  courageous  bearing,  for  he  changed  the  burden  of  his 


264  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

threat.  "Lay  this  to  heart  also,  you  that  were  so  gallant 
to  champion  the  sweet  gentlewoman,  there  upon  the  islet,"  he 
sneered.  "An  you  go  hence  with  my  bidding  left  undone, 
'twill  be  the  worse  for  her  that  was  your  playfellow." 

Jock  halted  then,  nailed  in  his  tracks.  "What  reparation 
do  you  require  of  me?"  he  asked. 

Said  Philip,  "  I  require  that  here,  in  my  presence,  you  shall 
marry  that  most  unhappy  girl." 

In  the  blank  silence  that  followed  Jock  looked  at  the  unreal 
flicker  of  the  pale  candle  flame,  and  brushed  his  hand  across 
his  eyes,  and  looked,  and  saw  the  flame  still.  He  tried  to 
think,  not  alone  of  himself,  for  whom  he  feared,  like  a  cow- 
ard, but  of  the  girl,  whose  safety  in  some  blind  way  seemed  to 
hang  upon  his  action,  and  he  found  that  his  thought  was 
profitless.  Enmeshed,  choked  in  a  coil  of  circumstance  that 
he  could  not  unravel,  he  made  at  last  an  unfamiliar  gesture, 
as  if  he  strove  to  put  aside  a  tangible  web. 

"  At  least  will  you  not  suffer  me  speak  with  Mistress  Love- 
well?"  he  asked  almost  humbly,  and  Philip,  after  hesitating 
a  moment  as  if  he  found  the  scene  too  pleasant  to  be  unduly 
shortened,  told  him  that  in  this  he  should  have  his  will. 

After  Philip  had  gone  away  up  the  staircase,  Jock  went  to 
the  fire  and,  almost  afraid  of  the  loneliness  of  the  great  hall, 
sat  himself  down  on  the  raised  hearth,  with  his  back  against 
the  masonry.  Thus  he  sat  staring  into  the  room,  too  bewil- 
dered with  the  shift  of  events  to  think  coherently,  until 
he  heard  a  lagging  step  upon  the  staircase.  He  raised  his 
eyes  and  was  aware  of  Althea,  who,  with  head  bent  and 
arms  that  drooped  forlornly,  came  slowly  toward  him  across 
the  echoing  space. 

For  a  moment  Jock  looked  upon  her  almost  as  if  he  looked 
upon  a  stranger.  He  had  remembered  her  as  in  the  first  days 
when  he  had  seen  her,  self-reliant,  almost  challenging  in  the 
brusque  freedom  of  her  movements,  with  a  face  that  in  the 


THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  BRIDECAKE  255 

rounded  outline  of  cheek  and  chin  suggested  a  comely  boy. 
Now,  at  the  end  of  the  ordeal,  cruel  for  her  as  for  him,  he 
gazed  upon  a  woman,  timid  of  bearing  with  a  hesitancy  that 
cut  his  heart,  and  with  a  face  worn  to  subtle,  unsuspected 
loveliness  of  outline.  He  looked  wondering,  and  then  as, 
with  an  almost  visible  effort  of  will,  she  raised  her  head,  he 
met  her  eyes,  deepened,  ensouled  with  suffering,  but  yet  the 
same  in  their  clear  honesty.  She  had  spoken  no  word,  but 
her  eyes  spoke  for  her,  pleading  for  his  compassion,  for  his 
protection,  and  in  that  moment  he  felt  his  startled  manhood 
strive  to  reaffirm  itself. 

While  he  looked  upon  her,  half  dazed  with  the  heady  sense 
of  reviving  courage  and  of  that  subtler  feeling  that  the  girl, 
in  her  new,  woman  presence  stirred  in  him,  Althea  came,  as 
of  set  purpose,  and  sank  down  on  the  seat  against  the 
wall,  hard  by  the  fire.  "They  have  told  you?"  She  spoke 
in  a  dull  voice,  with  her  eyes  on  her  hands  that  rested  lax, 
palm  upward,  on  her  lap. 

Jock  rose  from  his  place  on  the  hearth  and  knelt  by  her, 
with  one  arm  laid  along  the  seat  beside  her.  "  No  matter  for 
them,"  he  said.  "Forget  them,  Althea.  This  is  Hendie's 
cottage  ere  they  came,  and  I  am  saying  now  only  that  which 
I  was  fain  to  say  then  —  and  could  not  say." 

In  the  full  realization  of  the  truth  that  he  uttered,  he  was 
for  a  moment  silent.  To  him  it  seemed  a  miracle  that  from 
hostile  hands  he  should  receive  the  crowning  good.  How 
often  had  he  told  himself  that  it  were  a  madness,  that  it  were 
a  wrong  and  a  shame  to  the  girl,  to  tell  her  of  the  love  that 
he,  a  penniless  outcast,  bore  her.  Now  it  was  a  duty  laid 
upon  him,  his  duty  to  take  her  to  him  and  protect  her,  and 
with  his  heart  at  his  lips  he  whispered  the  words  that  in 
dreams  he  had  said  to  her,  "I  love  you,  Althea." 

She  did  not  raise  her  eyes.  She  did  not  stir  her  hand  to 
meet  his  hand  that  sought  hers.    Only,  "I  pray  you,"  she 


256  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

said  in  a  dull  and  weary  voice,  "  be  honest,  Jock.  You  were 
ever  honest,  and  for  that  I  was  your  friend." 

So  well  he  knew  her,  that  he  knew  she  did  not  speak  such 
words  in  coyness  to  draw  him  on.  In  sudden  new  fear  he 
waited  a  blank  moment  before  he  hazarded  the  question: 
"  Althea !  Can  you  say  that  you  do  not  believe  that  'tis  in 
honesty  I  speak  when  I  pray  you  marry  me?" 

Of  a  sudden  she  put  out  her  two  hands  to  him,  and  let  her 
eyes  meet  his.  "You  are  kind  —  you  have  ever  been  kind !" 
she  murmured,  and  then  as  suddenly  she  drew  her  hands  from 
his  hold,  and  clasping  them  about  her  knee,  turned  a  little 
from  him  and  so  sat,  half  averted,  with  head  bent.  "If  he 
but  meant  it!  If  I  could  know  that  he  meant  it!"  the 
thought  coursed  through  her  brain,  and  with  a  bitterness  that 
she  had  not  felt  under  sneers  and  insults  she  cried  out  against 
her  kinsfolk,  who  had  blighted  all  that  might  have  been  be- 
tween her  and  this  man  of  her  choice,  who  had  set  to  her  lips 
the  cup  that  she  had  coveted,  while  with  subtle  cruelty  they 
had  turned  the  contents  into  gall. 

When  she  spoke  again,  her  voice  was  remote  and  edged 
with  a  hardness  that  was  new  to  Jock.  "You  must  under- 
stand —  in  honor  I  must  give  you  to  understand.  It  is  be- 
cause of  Jarvis  they  would  do  this  —  my  Aunt  Difficult 
would  do  this.     Jarvis  is  fain  to  marry  me  —  " 

"  I  know  it  well,"  said  Jock,  and  in  thought  reverted  to  the 
time  when,  from  his  window,  he  had  seen  Althea  and  the 
young  parson  in  the  garden. 

"He  has  long  desired  me,"  the  girl  went  on,  flinging  forth 
the  story  as  if  she  took  savage  pleasure  in  scourging  herself 
with  the  repetition.  "  He  learned  where  I  was.  Wogan  told 
them  —  they  were  my  kinsfolk  —  they  were  seeking  for  me. 
So  Jarvis  came  to  me,  there  on  the  islet.  He  seemed  to  think 
I  should  be  glad  now  to  be  his  wife."  She  choked  a  sudden 
sob  and  went  on.     "  I  hate  him.     I  would  die  before  I  would 


THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  BRIDECAKE  257 

marry  him  —  but  his  mother  —  she  will  not  believe  me.  She 
says  I  lie  —  that  I  plot  to  marry  him.  She  learned  of  his 
coming  —  she  had  them  fetch  me  back  to  Graystones.  I  told 
her  I  would  go  away  —  I  would  go  out  to  service  —  I  would 
never  see  Jarvis  if  only  she  would  let  me  go.  But  she  would 
not  suffer  me.  She  is  my  kinswoman  —  one  of  my  guar- 
dians —  I  am  not  yet  eighteen.  And  she  will  not  let  me  go 
hence  until  I  go  a  married  woman,  beyond  the  reach  of  Jar- 
vis.  To  secure  me  from  him,  they  would  marry  me  —  marry 
me  —  anywhere  —  anyhow  —  to  a  beggar  by  the  roadside  —  " 

She  let  the  words  slip,  a  mere  wild  generality,  and  only 
when  she  heard  their  sound  knew  what  she  had  said.  With 
a  cry  of  pity,  not  for  herself,  she  turned  to  him.  "  Oh,  Jock  ! " 
she  moaned.     "  I  did  not  mean  that  last  1     I  did  not  mean  —  " 

"Nay,  dear,  I  know!"  he  comforted,  and  tried  to  believe 
his  own  words. 

But  in  the  sorry  silence  that  fell  between  them,  he  brooded 
on  what  she  had  said.  Steadied  in  her  presence  to  something 
like  his  former  clearness  of  vision,  he  saw  how  mad  had  been 
the  impulse  on  which  he  had  knelt  beside  her.  In  the  name 
of  reason,  why  should  this  girl  care  for  him  —  why  should 
any  girl  care  for  a  man  without  riches,  without  grace  of  man- 
ner or  of  person,  whom  she  had  always  seen  in  captivity,  out- 
cast, browbeaten,  humiliated?  He  felt  his  face  burn  with 
slow  shame  at  his  own  effrontery,  yet  he  dared  not  quit  his 
place  lest  she  think  it  was  her  words,  not  his  own  returning 
reason,  drove  him  from  her,  and  so  chide  herself.  Abjectly, 
he  sat  where  he  had  been  kneeling,  and  with  eyes  downcast 
counted  the  slow  ticking  of  the  great  clock  in  the  far  corner 
of  the  hall. 

But  as  the  miserable  minutes  ran  on,  slowly,  little  by  little, 
Jock  regripped  his  old  practical  habit  of  considering  the  im- 
mediate need.  Not  for  his  own  sake,  for  he  was  beyond 
endeavor  for  himself,  save  the  craven  endeavor  to  keep  alive, 


258  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

but  for  the  girl's  sake,  he  struggled  back  to  reasonable  thought. 
By  stealth  he  looked  upon  her,  trying  not  to  look  with  a 
lover's  eyes,  and  he  noted  the  faint  hollows  beneath  her 
cheek  bones,  the  waxy  thinness  of  the  fingers  locked  about 
her  knee,  and  with  that  sight  graven  on  his  heart,  he  rose  to 
his  feet.  He  was  not  afraid  and  he  knew  what  was  to  do. 
At  his  old  horse-trooper's  stride  he  went  to  the  table  and 
struck  the  bell  that  had  been  set  for  Inchcome's  convenience, 
and  then,  with  a  disproportionate  sense  of  satisfaction,  he 
quenched  the  sickly  flame  of  the  candle. 

He  was  standing  in  the  sane  and  steady  daylight,  when 
the  serving  fellow  that  a  little  before  had  led  him  into 
the  hall  came  in  answer  to  the  bell,  and  came  grinning 
with  familiar  insolence.  "Tell  Mr.  Heyroun  I  would  speak 
with  him,"  bade  Jock,  and  the  fellow  cast  back  the  sneer, 
"Master  in  the  house,  be  ye,  since  ye've  got  you  a  mistress?" 

It  was  no  worse  than  many  a  speech  that  in  the  last  days 
Jock  had  swallowed  in  silence,  but  now  he  knew  that  over 
his  shoulder  the  words  smote  Althea.  Without  a  pause  to 
think  on  consequences  and  to  fear,  he  took  a  step  toward  the 
serving  man,  and  with  one  backhanded  blow  changed  his  grin 
to  a  bloody-lipped  grimace.  He  heard  the  smacking  sound 
of  the  blow  that  he  had  found  courage  to  deliver,  sweeter 
than  music  in  his  ears,  and  he  spoke  with  his  old  note  of 
authority,  "Get  about  the  business  that  I  bade  you !" 

When  he  had  seen  the  fellow  go  shuffling,  cringing  away, 
he  turned,  with  the  manner  of  recovered  mastery  upon  him, 
to  Althea,  and  took  her  two  hands  in  his  and  drew  her  close. 
"You  cannot  stay  in  this  house."  He  summarized  the  posi- 
tion swiftly.  "They  have  near  done  you  to  death  among 
them.  You  cannot  leave,  being  under  their  guardianship, 
unless  you  go  a  married  woman.  So  'tis  plain  that  you  must 
marry  me." 

He  met  her  eyes  and,  near  in  heart  to  her,  vibrated  to  her 


THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  BRIDECAKE  259 

terror  and  her  shame.  "You  need  not  fear,"  he  blundered, 
almost  roughly.  "Whatever  their  crop-eared  minister  says, 
'tis  your  word,  not  his,  that  makes  me  your  husband  at  the 
last,  and  for  that  word  of  yours  I  will  wait.  You  do  me 
the  grace  to  say  that  always  I  have  been  honest  with  you. 
Then  believe  me  honest  now." 

So  helpless,  so  dear  she  seemed,  that  he  wanted  but  little 
of  gathering  her,  then  and  there,  into  his  arms,  but  for  her 
sake,  who  must  not  be  affrighted,  he  held  himself  in  check. 
Perhaps  in  time  he  might  win  her  to  him;  at  that  moment 
he  must  strive  solely  to  win  her  to  her  own  safety.  To  that 
end  he  found  in  himself  the  grace  to  lie  valiantly.  "Why," 
said  he,  "  let  us  be  reasonable,  Althea.  This  marriage  is  but 
an  expedient  to  help  us  both,  remember,  nothing  more." 

She  looked  at  him,  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  reach  his  soul. 
"I  trust  you,  Jock,"  she  said  slowly.  "If  you  will,  of  your 
goodness  —  they  shall  call  me  your  wife  —  you  shall  take 
me  hence  —  and  oh !  from  my  heart  I  thank  you,  and  I 
grieve  that  I  can  make  you  no  return ! " 

At  that  moment,  while  their  eyes  met,  he  heard  the  sound 
of  a  door  gently  opened  and  of  a  soft  footstep  on  the  threshold. 
He  knew  that  step,  but  he  stood  steady,  back  to  the  new- 
comer, face  to  Althea,  and  the  hands  with  which  he  held  her 
hands  did  not  waver.  "Whatever  you  owe  me,  you  have 
more  than  paid  back  to  me  this  hour,"  he  said,  in  full  realiza- 
tion of  the  debt  of  his  recovered  manhood  that  was  due  her, 
and  then,  still  standing  by  her  side,  he  turned  and  with  un- 
flinching eyes  fronted  the  chestnut-haired  Philip. 

"Well?"   said  Philip,  blinking. 

"  Mistress  Lovewell  is  pleased  to  do  me  honor  by  becoming 
my  wife,"  Jock  answered.  If  Philip  ventured  on  a  sneer, 
he  had  resolved  to  strike  him. 

Possibly  Philip  read  that  determination  in  Jock's  face,  for 
he  did  not  sneer.     "Since  that  is  your  decision,"  he  said. 


260  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

"I  have  at  hand  a  parson  who  came  hither  to  solemnize 
this  day  a  different  marriage.  He  is  an  independent,  and 
their  rites  are  brief  and  of  scant  formaUty.  I'll  bid  him  in, 
and  the  marriage  shall  be  made  this  hour." 

"Ay,"  said  Jock,  "and  call  in  your  whole  household,  d'ye 
mind  ?  You  shall  not  spread  your  foul  Ues  afterward,  that  we 
fled  hence  unwedded.     Fetch  hither  all  your  people,  I  say !" 

Jock  had  his  will  in  this,  even  as  he  had  looked  to  have  it, 
for  he  had  reckoned  wisely  that  Philip  and  his  mother,  all 
the  more  set,  in  their  sudden  great  fortune,  to  keep  Jarvis 
from  marrying  a  dowerless  girl  of  tarnished  repute,  would 
for  their  own  advantage  do  everything  to  make  Althea's 
marriage  fast  and  legal.  One  by  one  the  household  of  Gray- 
stones,  from  the  stableboys  and  kitchen  wenches  to  the 
chestnut-haired  Philip  and  his  mother.  Mistress  Difficult, 
near  a  score  of  legal  witnesses,  gathered  in  the  hall,  and  in  the 
centre  of  that  hostile  circle  Jock  and  Althea  were  made  man 
and  wife.  The  independent  clergyman  of  Wogan's  choosing 
would  have  used  the  barest  of  ceremonies,  but  Althea,  at  the 
last  minute,  drew  a  ring  from  her  bosom  and  snapped  it  from 
the  cord  by  which  it  hung  about  her  neck. 

"I  will  be  married  with  this,  my  mother's  ring,"  she  said, 
with  her  old  spirit,  and  she  had  her  will. 

When  the  last  word  was  spoken,  Jock  took  her  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  her.  He  had  not  forgotten  the  folk  that  circled 
them  about,  rather,  remembering  but  too  well,  he  sought  to 
give  the  girl  comfort  and  to  win  for  himself  strength.  With 
her  kiss  on  his  lips,  he  turned  and  among  the  faces  —  faces  of 
women  that  tittered  and  of  men  that  in  the  front  rank  scowled 
or  in  the  safety  of  the  rear  rank  sneered  —  he  singled  out  the 
chestnut-haired  Philip.  "  Now,"  —  he  flung  the  words  Uke 
a  challenge,  —  "I  will  take  my  wife  hence." 

Promptly  Philip  Ufted  a  mocking  voice.  "Way  there  for 
Mr.  Hetheringtonl" 


THE  BEEAKING  OF  THE  BRIDECAKE  261 

The  men  shuffled  back,  nudging  each  other,  grinning  as 
they  left  a  free  pathway  to  the  door,  and  one  of  the  serving 
wenches  giggled  shrilly.  In  that  moment,  with  the  goodly 
applause  of  his  dependents  to  hearten  him,  Philip  stepped  up 
to  Jock  with  hand  outstretched.  "Hold!"  said  he.  "Take 
your  wife's  inheritance  with  you." 

It  was  a  shilling  piece  that  Philip  proffered,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment Jock  was  minded  to  dash  the  coin  back  into  his  face. 
But  he  came  from  the  north,  and  with  northern  prudence  he 
reflected  that,  now  that  he  had  the  world  to  face,  without 
money  or  friends  and  with  a  wife  at  his  side,  he  were  foolish 
to  despise  even  a  shilling.  To  the  audible  delight  of  the 
household  of  Graystones,  he  pocketed  the  coin.  "I  thank 
you,  kinsman,"  he  said.  "  On  my  word,  I  shall  return  later 
unto  Graystones  to  tell  you  how  deeply  I  thank  you  for 
this  —  and  for  another  matter  that  you  bear  in  mind." 

The  serving  folk,  still  following  their  cue,  laughed,  but 
Philip,  eye  to  eye  with  Jock,  did  not  laugh.  He  went  back 
a  step  and  stood  biting  his  thin  lips,  while  Jock  put  his  arm 
about  Althea  and  between  the  lines  of  snickering  servants 
led  her  from  the  hall. 

Outside  the  house,  on  a  common  impulse  to  shake  the  dust 
of  Graystones  from  their  feet,  Jock  and  Althea  made  their 
way  across  the  courtyard,  and  passing  beneath  the  old  gate- 
house, reached  the  lane  that  led  to  Heronswood.  In  silence 
they  turned  to  the  right  and  skirted  the  hedge  that  bounded 
the  lands  of  the  Heyrouns,  till  they  had  passed  the  great 
stables  and  the  paddock.  Then  it  was  that,  safe  outside  of 
the  demesne  of  Graystones,  Althea,  so  steady  and  so  brave 
while  her  enemies  looked  upon  her,  sat  down  on  the  turf 
by  the  wayside,  and  resting  her  head  upon  her  knees,  sobbed 
and  sobbed,  while  Jock,  in  utter  helplessness,  stood  looking 
on.  Once  he  bent,  with  a  muttered  word  of  comfort,  and 
started  to  put  his  arm  about  her,  but  she  shrank  from  him, 


262  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

"No,  no!"  she  choked.  "Oh,  I  did  ill  to  consent!  Oh, 
in  very  truth  I  would  that  I  were  dead!" 

At  that  moment  both  caught  the  sound,  in  the  paddock, 
of  running  feet  that  drew  quickly  near.  Straightway  Althea 
dried  her  eyes,  striving  to  find  a  face  of  defiance  to  show  to  her 
kindred,  and  Jock  turned  alertly  to  a  gap  in  the  hedge,  hard 
at  hand,  through  which  danger  might  come.  Next  instant 
they  both  could  have  laughed  at  their  fears,  for  through  the 
gap  there  came  no  more  than  the  breathless  Uttle  scullery 
wench  called  Dol. 

"Here  is  your  cloak.  Mistress  Althea,"  she  panted,  "and 
sure  I  wish  ye  Godspeed,  and  long  life  and  happiness,  though 
I  durst  not  say  it  yonder  in  the  hall,  and  here,  mistress,  I 
have  fetched  ye  a  cake  of  mine  own  baking  that  ye  might 
have  a  bridecake,  else  surely  ye  would  never  be  rightly 
married,  and  I  must  speed  back  ere  they  miss  me !  " 

Abruptly  as  she  had  come,  the  little  maid  whisked  away 
through  the  hedge,  and  Althea  was  left  staring  at  a  small 
and  steaming  spicecake  that  rested  on  her  lap.  She  began 
to  laugh,  an  echo  of  her  old  laughter,  though  the  tears  were 
still  wet  upon  her  cheeks. 

"Bless  her  kind  heart!"  she  said.  "But,  Jock,  whatever 
shall  we  do  with  this  luckless  cake?" 

He  knelt  on  the  ground  beside  her,  and  taking  the  little 
cake,  broke  it  in  halves.  "Why,  eat  it,  dear  lass  1"  he  said. 
"Eat  it,  for  luckl" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


AT  THE   EBB 


In  this,  at  least,  the  scullery  wench's  gift  brought  luck, 
that,  in  the  homely  act  of  eating  hot  spicecake,  Jock  and 
Althea  must  needs  slacken  something  of  the  tragic  tension 
with  which  they  had  quitted  Graystones.  The  boy,  by  old 
practical  habit,  was  first  to  fall  to  consideration  of  ways  and 
means,  and  promptly,  while  he  ate,  he  spoke  of  them.  Had 
Althea,  in  this  emergency,  any  kindred,  any  friends  to  whom 
he  might  conduct  her,  he  questioned,  and  with  secret  joy  of 
which  he  felt  that  he  should  be  ashamed,  he  found  that  she 
had  none. 

"I  have  no  friends  in  Sussex,"  she  said,  "else,  you  may 
be  sure,  I  had  never  come  to  accept  my  Uncle  Philip's  charity. 
And  of  my  Heyroun  kin,  my  Aunt  Henrietta  showed  me  favor 
by  times,  but  'twas  done  only  to  spite  my  Aunt  Difficult. 
She  would  cry  out  upon  me  now,  and  bar  her  door  against 
me." 

"She'll  look  for  that  chance  till  she's  blind  with  looking," 
Jock  rounded  the  sentence.  "  But  what  of  the  folk  at  Dray- 
cote?" 

"  Isabel  sent  me  forth  of  her  house,"  Althea  said  quietly. 

"Yes,"  said  Jock,  "and  I  am  already  too  deep  in  Rafe 
Heyroun's  debt  to  go  thither  as  if  I  looked  to  win  further 
favor.  We'll  e'en  fend  for  ourselves  now,  and  owe  thanks 
to  no  man." 


264  THE  FAIR  MAED  OF  GRAYSTONES 

It  was  a  pretty  declaration,  but  Althea,  grown  practical 
in  her  turn,  reduced  it  to  mere  high  sound.  "And  whither 
shall  we  go  first?"  she  asked,  as  she  ate  the  last  of  the 
cake-crumbs. 

Jock  whistled  and  then  smiled,  as  it  was,  on  the  whole, 
a  better  thing  to  do  and  as  cheap  as  to  scowl.  Said  he :  "  I've 
a  stepdame  and  fourteen  half  and  quarter  brothers  and 
sisters  in  Daske  Forest,  and  I've  never  a  friend  to  count  on 
nearer  than  there.     Shall  we  trudge  thither?" 

At  a  certain  point  of  desperation  matters  become  amusing, 
and  Althea,  having  reached  that  point,  smiled  in  answer. 
"How  far  is  that,  Jock?"  she  asked.  "Several  counties 
distant,  is  it  not?" 

"A  matter  of  nine  counties,"  he  answered  lightly,  "and 
something  less  than  two  hundred  mile." 

"That  would  be  a  journey  of  at  least  a  fortnight,"  she  com- 
mented, "and  —  what  store  of  money  have  we,  Jock?" 

An  exhaustive  search  revealed  the  fact  that  Althea  had 
in  her  pocket  a  silver  sixpence,  and  Jock  had  two  pennies, 
which  had  slipped  through  a  hole  in  the  lining  of  his  doublet, 
so  that  he  had  failed  to  find  and  give  them  to  Mother  Hendie. 
Besides  this  hoard,  they  had  the  shilling  of  Philip's  contemp- 
tuous bestowal,  which  showed  large  and  imposing  against  the 
copper  pence  and  the  shrivelled  sixpence.  "  'Tis  a  rare  thing 
to  be  an  heiress!"  quoth  Jock,  and  Althea  laughed,  though 
instantly  her  face  clouded  again. 

Truly,  it  was  not  a  pleasant  prospect  for  two  friendless 
folk,  —  a  journey  of  two  hundred  miles  on  a  capital  of  one 
and  eight  pence,  —  but  it  seemed  the  only  thing  for  them  to 
do.  Alike  descendants  of  the  Lancashire  Holcrofts,  they 
wasted  no  time  in  unpractical  self-pity,  but  having  eaten 
their  bridecake,  rose  up  and  started  courageously  upon  their 
journey. 

With  sound  good  sense  Jock  shaped  their  course  through 


AT  THE  EBB  265 

field-paths  and  byways.  He  had  a  suspicion  that  his  true 
identity  had  not  been  proclaimed  through  the  countryside 
and  that,  bearing  the  odium  of  Captain  Hetherington,  he 
might  suffer  at  the  hands  of  the  country  folk  the  rough  treat- 
ment that  the  Captain  had  well  merited.  At  need  he  could 
fight,  —  and  that  he  once  more  could  say  that  of  himself, 
he  gave  humble  thanks  to  Heaven  and  to  Althea !  —  but  he 
was  no  pick-quarrel,  especially  when  he  had  heavy  odds 
against  him,  and  he  was  weaponless.  He  regretted  in  special 
his  lack  of  weapons  and  presently  contrived  to  break  him  a 
cudgel  in  the  roadside  thicket,  a  poor  substitute  for  a  sword, 
yet  better  than  nothing. 

That  night  the  newly-wedded  pair  spent  in  the  shelter  of  a 
straw-stack,  some  six  miles  to  the  west  of  Heronswood.  The 
air  was  edged  with  the  frosts  of  mid-October  and  the  evening 
wind  was  keen,  but  Jock  burrowed  a  deep  hollow  in  the  straw 
for  Althea's  comfort,  and  when  once  he  had  seen  that  she 
slept,  tired  out  with  their  march,  slipped  off  his  doublet  and 
spread  it  over  her.  He  trusted  that  now  she  would  not  suffer 
with  the  cold,  and  for  himself,  as  he  had  done  the  most  of  his 
life,  he  suffered  in  silence.  A  part  of  the  night  he  tramped 
up  and  down  the  bare,  gusty  field,  swinging  his  arms  to  warm 
himself,  and  when  he  grew  tired  of  marching  he  huddled  down 
in  the  lee  of  the  stack.  Too  cold  to  sleep,  he  sat  wide-eyed 
and  watched  the  stars,  luminous  with  frost,  that  wheeled 
above  him  —  Charles's  Wain  on  the  sparsely  gemmed  north- 
ern horizon,  the  sharp  point  of  the  Polar  star,  the  streaming 
banner  of  the  Milky  Way. 

"This  is  my  marriage  night,"  he  reflected,  and  in  the  grim 
contrast  of  the  reality  with  what  his  fancy  had  aforetime 
painted,  found  humor  of  a  sort. 

In  the  chill  dawning  Jock  and  Althea  took  up,  each  coura- 
geously, for  the  other's  comfort,  the  course  of  hfe  to  which  for 
several  days  they  held.    Each  day  they  walked  as  far  as 


266  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Althea's  strength  would  endure.  At  night  they  slept,  now 
beneath  a  hedge,  now  in  the  shelter  of  a  deserted  barn,  once 
upon  the  fresh  hay  of  a  stable,  where  Jock  groomed  horses  in 
the  morning  and  so  earned  new  milk  to  Althea's  breakfast. 
With  their  little  money,  eked  out  to  gain  the  worth  of  every 
penny,  they  bought  bread,  and  shamelessly  Jock  foraged  by 
night  and  with  the  skill  born  of  old  experience  "found,"  as 
he  phrased  it,  late  apples  and  even  raw  turnips  to  piece  out 
their  scant  fare.  To  all  outward  seeming  their  life  was  as 
poor,  as  hopeless,  as  degraded,  as  life  could  be  and  yet  be 
life.  With  the  practical  sense  in  outward  things  on  which  he 
prided  himself,  Jock  knew  this  as  well  as  any  chance  onlooker 
that  stared  and  scoffed  at  them  as  they  trudged  by  his  door, 
yet  for  all  that,  in  the  soul  of  him,  perversely,  against  his 
reason,  he  knew  himself  at  peace,  nay,  even  well  content. 

For  one  great  boon,  he  found  himself  each  moment  strong 
of  hand  and  quick  of  thought,  as,  in  the  shaken  state  in  which 
he  had  left  the  Graystones  cellar,  he  had  scarcely  hoped  to  be 
again.  For  a  greater  boon,  he  found  himself  of  service  to 
the  girl  of  his  love,  and  in  return  he  had  all  payment,  —  ex- 
cept the  payment  that  he  had  pledged  himself  in  honor  not 
to  ask,  —  payment  of  her  presence,  of  the  trust  in  her  eyes 
when  she  looked  upon  him,  of  the  sweet  and  patient  courage 
with  which,  somewhat  for  his  sake,  he  felt,  she  met  all  dis- 
comfort. 

Of  the  girl's  own  heart,  what  can  be  said?  Bittersweet 
hours  those  were  to  her,  both  in  the  living  of  them  and  in 
after-recollection.  She  was  fain  of  the  lad's  company,  yet 
loath  to  burden  him,  proud  that  she  bore  the  name  of  his 
wife,  yet  shamed  to  think  of  the  pity  in  which,  she  held,  that 
name  had  been  bestowed,  jealous  of  each  spent  moment  that 
brought  so  much  nearer  the  time  of  their  parting,  yet,  in 
mere  justice  to  him,  praying  for  that  parting  time  to  come. 

Thus  they  trudged  on  through  the  autumn  fields  and  the 


AT  THE  EBB  267 

dusty  roads,  outwardly  a  scorn  and  a  laughing  stock,  inwardly 
living  to  each  other  a  life  where  the  sweet  outweighed  the  bit- 
ter, till  at  last,  a  week  from  their  setting  forth,  came  a  day 
when  the  external  was  forced  upon  them  crushingly  and  their 
fools'  paradise  had  an  end. 

It  had  been  a  day  of  lowering  gray  clouds  that  rested 
blanket-wise  upon  the  hills,  and  with  nightfall  came  a  flurry 
of  spiteful  rain.  On  the  gray  horizon  the  wayfarers  spied 
neither  stack  nor  shelter  of  any  kind,  and  in  search  of  har- 
borage they  trudged  on  till  they  found  themselves  overtaken 
by  the  dark  of  the  rain-harried  evening.  Little  by  little,  in 
the  last  hours,  Jock  had  felt  his  hardihood  desert  him,  so  that 
now  he  went  in  glum  silence.  In  his  pockets,  where  he  had 
thrust  his  hands  for  warmth,  he  counted  his  money  by  touch 
and  found  that  he  stood  possessed  of  sixpence.  They  had 
spent  more  than  two-thirds  of  their  stock,  they  had  not  come 
sixty  miles  upon  their  long  journey,  and  he  saw  no  chance  to 
earn  money  to  carry  them  farther.  He  had  the  strength  of 
his  arms  and  some  skill  with  horses  and  cattle,  but  he  could 
not  look  for  employment  in  a  Puritan  county,  where  his  step 
and  carriage  proclaimed  him  a  soldier,  and  his  wretched 
state  gave  him  to  be  a  soldier  of  the  losing  side. 

In  dumb  misery  he  plodded  forward  with  his  face  to  the 
pelting  rain,  and  he  was  wondering  where  and  how  this  weary 
march  would  end,  when  he  heard  a  little  moan  from  Althea. 
As  he  turned  to  her,  the  girl  sank  down  on  the  rain-soaked 
turi  by  the  wayside.  In  the  dark  he  could  not  see  her  face, 
but  he  read  a  tragic  story  of  lost  courage  in  the  outline  of  her 
bent  figure. 

"What  is  amiss,  sweetheart?"  he  coaxed,  forgetting  his 
compact  in  pity  of  her  plight. 

So  near  do  tragedy  and  comedy  touch  shoulders  that  Althea 
laughed  at  her  own  answer.  "  'Tis  a  hole  worn  in  my  shoe, 
Jock.    Indeed,  my  foot  is  blistered,  and  oh !  I  am  so  cold  — 


268  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

80  cold!"     Poor,  plucky,  little  comrade,  she  let  her  courage 
go  out  in  the  sob  with  which  she  ended. 

Regardless  of  his  pledge,  he  took  her  into  his  arms,  chafing 
her  numbed  hands,  pressing  her  cold  cheek  to  his.  At  first 
with  joy  he  realized  that  she  was  relaxing,  yielding  without 
resistance,  as  if  glad  of  his  nearness,  but  next  moment  he  read 
nothing  but  ill  omen  in  this  surrender.  So  well  had  he  learned 
and  loved  the  girl's  essential  reticence  of  person  that  he 
knew  that  only  in  bitter  extremity,  past  heeding  or  caring  for 
aught,  would  she  have  brooked  his  touch.  Like  a  wild  thing 
driven  from  its  fastnesses  by  fire  or  by  cold,  she  had  come 
to  his  arms  as  the  less  of  evils. 

Presently,  in  the  midst  of  her  tears,  Althea  found  the  relief 
of  words :  "  But  it  is  madness  —  sheer  madness !  We  cannot 
go  on  thus.  You  must  surely  see  that  we  cannot.  'Tis  as  it 
was  with  us  there  upon  the  islet  in  the  Illey.  Alone,  you 
might  have  gone  on  to  safety  then.  With  me  claiming  your 
care,  we  both  came  finally  to  Graystones.  You  must  leave 
me,  Jock,  and  go  upon  your  way." 

"Did  I  go  on  and  leave  you,  there  upon  the  islet?"  he 
asked. 

"  It  were  better  for  you  if  you  had,"  she  answered  wearily. 
Too  tired  even  for  tears,  she  rested  in  his  arms,  too  tired  even 
to  utter  the  lie  that  had  been  upon  her  lips,  "It  had  been 
better  for  me!"  Instead  she  pleaded,  "'Twas  an  expedient, 
our  marriage,  you  said  it.  Now  that  its  purpose  is  done,  now 
that  I  am  free  of  Graystones,  let  me  go  my  way."  As  she 
heard  the  words,  uttered  in  her  stoutest  tone,  she  shivered 
with  involuntary  fear  lest  he  obey  them. 

Jock  merely  laughed,  as  hearty  a  laugh  as  a  man  could 
muster  while  his  teeth  were  chattering  with  cold.  "My 
dear,"  said  he,  "'tis  not  the  custom  in  the  north  whence  I 
come  for  a  man  to  leave  his  dog  to  starve  by  the  wayside, 
let  alone  his  wife." 


AT  THE  EBB  269 

At  that  word  he  felt  her  shrink  from  him,  and  gently  he 
released  his  hold  upon  her,  but  he  finished  what  he  had  to 
say.  "  You  are  mine,  at  least,  to  care  for  and  to  guard.  Do 
not  forget  that,  Althea,  and  speak  no  more  of  my  deserting 
you.     Somehow  we  shall  win  through  this  pass." 

He  spoke  with  enough  confidence  to  revive  a  flicker  of  cour- 
age in  the  exhausted  girl,  but  at  heart  he  knew  not  whereof 
he  spoke.  All  about  him  he  saw  the  prospect  dark,  dark  as 
the  bleak  night  itself,  and  look  where  he  would,  he  spied  no 
loophole  of  escape.  For  the  present,  however,  he  saw  the 
instant  need  of  getting  Althea  under  shelter.  As  if  she  had 
been  a  boy,  he  read  a  whole  history  of  physical  weariness  and 
collapse,  not  mere  feminine  hysteria,  behind  her  tears. 

Coaxing  her,  laughing  at  her,  he  got  her  to  her  feet,  and 
again  they  started  forward.  She  went  but  lamely,  footsore 
in  her  broken  shoes,  so  that  he  half  carried  her.  By  now  the 
rain  had  ceased,  but  the  damp  chill  of  it  hung  heavy  in  the 
air,  and  the  sky  was  overcast,  and  the  stars  were  hidden.  In 
a  nightmare  of  darkness  and  penetrating  damp,  Jock  went 
forward,  with  the  burden  of  the  outworn  girl  sagging  against 
his  arm  and  shoulder,  and  at  his  heart  a  weight  of  dread  that 
grew  with  each  step  till  it  was  near  to  crushing  him. 

At  long  last  he  made  out,  through  the  blackness,  the  small, 
sharp  lights  of  a  village.  "You  shall  have  food,  and  a  bed 
beneath  a  Christian  roof,"  he  promised  Althea,  and  he  real- 
ized that  she  must  be  far  gone  indeed,  when  he  found  that, 
instead  of  crying  out,  as  was  her  custom,  against  such  rash 
expenditure,  she  heard  the  proffer  in  silence. 

In  the  village  he  sought  out  the  one  poor  inn,  and  there  he 
spent  their  last  sixpence.  That  night,  while  Althea  slept  in  the 
chamber  above,  he  sat  by  the  low  fire  in  the  kitchen,  and 
cudgelled  his  brains  for  some  way  out.  He  could  not  sleep 
for  thinking  on  their  plight,  but  passed  the  long  hours  in  beat- 
ing himself,  as  it  were,  against  a  blank  wall  of  circumstance. 


270  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

It  was  not  till  daylight,  when  he  was  washing  his  face  at 
the  stable  pump,  that  in  the  gossiping  talk  of  a  friendly  hostler 
he  caught  a  name  that  he  remembered  well,  and  that  in- 
stant grasped  in  his  hand  the  clew  to  escape  for  which  he  had 
prayed.  A  little  later,  when  Althea  came  belowstairs,  he 
met  her  with  a  hopefulness  that  was  not  all  assumed. 

Said  he,  "  What  an  if  we  stop  short  of  Daske  Forest  ?  Will 
you  weep  yourself  blind  for  disappointment?" 

She  tried  to  smile,  though  her  face  was  white  and  her  eyes 
were  heavy  with  weariness. 

"Here  in  this  house,"  he  went  on,  "I've  been  reminded  of 
a  gentleman  that  was  my  friend,  what  time  we  lay  in  Col- 
chester, and,  I  dare  swear,  was  no  mere  carpet-friend.  In 
any  case,  I'll  test  his  kindness  now.  His  name  is  called 
Verney  Claybourne,  and  they  tell  me  that  he  dwells  at  the 
manor  of  Claybourne,  not  twenty  mile  to  the  north  of  here." 

Althea  gave  a  weak  little  gasp.  "  Twenty  mile  ?  Oh,  Jock ! " 
She  sank  down  on  the  nearest  seat. 

"We  can  walk  that  distance  in  two  days,"  he  hurried  on 
in  a  stout  voice.  "  Verney  was  taken  prisoner,  there  at  Col- 
chester, but  he  was  a  man  of  substance  and  will  have  ran- 
somed himself  long  since.  And  he  will  give  us  shelter  and 
succor,  else  never  let  me  trust  man  more !" 

On  such  slender  hope  they  set  forth,  breakfastless,  on 
their  twenty-mile  walk  to  Claybourne.  Of  the  thousand  con- 
tingencies that  might  dash  their  hope,  Althea  was  too  merci- 
ful to  question  Jock,  and  he  himself  was  set  not  to  think.  He 
strode  along  that  day,  chin  up  and  fists  clenched.  Over  and 
over  he  repeated,  as  if  the  words  held  a  charm,  that  Verney 
must  be  there  at  Claybourne  —  he  must  —  he  must !  It 
seemed  to  Jock  as  if,  by  the  very  force  of  his  will  oft  expressed, 
he  could  compel  fate  itself. 

By  noon  Althea  was  so  faint  with  hunger  that  she  could 
walk  no  farther.    He  left  her  beneath  the  hedge^  and  went 


AT  THE  EBB  271 

to  a  farmhouse,  where  all  the  afternoon  he  hewed  wood  and 
fetched  water  for  a  blackguardly  churl.  It  was  the  very 
crucifixion  of  his  pride,  but  he  won  in  return  a  pocketful  of 
stale  bread.  He  went  back  to  Althea,  he  persuaded  her,  al- 
most by  sheer  strength  of  will,  to  eat  a  morsel,  and  then,  with 
his  help,  to  stumble  forward  a  mile  or  two  farther.  There 
they  spent  the  night,  huddling  for  shelter  beneath  a  bridge, 
and  in  the  morning,  when  they  had  eaten  the  last  of  their 
bread,  set  forward  again. 

"We  shall  lie  to-night  at  Claybourne,"  Jock  said  with 
dogged  confidence. 

Through  that  iron  day  of  weariness  that  wore  to  the  soul, 
he  upheld  himself,  he  upheld  the  girl,  till  the  moment  of  con- 
summation. Just  as  the  sun  was  setting,  they  came  in  sight, 
above  the  hedgerows  of  the  lane  that  they  followed,  of  a  square 
church  tower  in  a  boscage  of  yews,  and  the  gables  of  a  stone 
house.  Almost  tremulous  in  that  instant  of  triumph,  Jock 
climbed  the  stile  that  led  over  the  hedge  and  helped  Althea 
to  a  place  on  the  step  below  him. 

From  the  vantage-point  of  the  stile  he  descried,  in  the 
field  beyond,  a  laborer,  a  ditcher,  who  was  just  shouldering 
his  spade  ere  he  started  homeward,  and  he  hailed  the  fellow. 
"Yonder  is  Claybourne,  friend?"  He  indicated  the  church 
tower,  the  gabled  house,  and  the  lower  huddle  of  thatched 
roofs  that  showed  above  the  hedges,  two  fields  away. 

"Ay,  yon's  Claybourne  manor,"  said  the  man. 

Jock  wet  his  Ups  ere  he  ventured  the  next  question.  "Is 
Mr.  Verney  Claybourne  at  the  manor  house?" 

"  Young  squire,  is  it  ?  "  the  man  questioned  slowly.  "  Nay, 
he's  not  come  home.  If  ye  be  minded  to  go  a-begging,"  he 
added  shrewdly,  "best  shog  off  from  the  manor  house.  Old 
dame,  his  mother,  rules  the  roost  while  squire's  away,  and 
she's  rare  and  angry  that  squire  went  roaming  the  country 
wi'  the  rakehelly  king's  men  and  had  ransom  to  pay,  and 


272  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

seeing  that  you're  a  king's  man,  by  the  cut  of  you,  she'll  surely 
set  the  dogs  on  you." 

The  man  jogged  away  through  the  dim  field,  and  Jock  and 
Althea  remained  sitting  stupidly  upon  the  stile.  After  a 
moment  she  dropped  her  head  against  his  knee.  He  put  his 
arm  about  her,  and  so  they  sat  in  silence,  while  round  them 
the  shadows  deepened  and  the  light  faded  out  of  the  west. 

"Come,"  he  said  at  last  in  a  lifeless  voice.  "We  cannot 
sit  here  all  night." 

Without  further  words,  they  turned  back  up  the  lane 
that  they  had  followed  from  the  main  highway.  Althea 
limped,  dragging  herself  along  painfully,  but  she  uttered  no 
reproaches  for  the  false  hope  that  had  been  fostered  in  her, 
and  dumbly  Jock  was  thankful  for  this  forbearance.  Un- 
decided, for  once,  he  himself  went  but  slowly,  and  soon, 
almost  without  settled  plan,  he  turned  from  the  beaten  track 
into  the  barren  common  through  which  the  way  now  led. 
Stumbling  in  the  dim  light,  he  trudged  on  until  he  came  to  a 
little  hollow  set  round  with  furze  bushes.  There  he  sat  down, 
and  Althea  sank  beside  him. 

He  looked  at  her  bowed  head  and  her  drooping  body  be- 
neath the  shabby  cloak.  "I'm  sorry!"  he  said  in  a  dull 
voice. 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  him.  "Jock!"  she  said  tremu- 
lously.    "  Will  you  kiss  me  —  once  ?  " 

He  drew  her  to  him,  and  with  her  head  upon  his  shoulder, 
she  went  on  wearily :  "  I  would  thank  you  —  for  that  you 
were  kind.  And  I  have  been  happy,  mad  though  it  sounds 
to  say  it  —  I  have  been  very  happy  —  at  times  —  since  we 
left  Graystones.  But  I  cannot  walk  farther.  I  think  I  shall 
die,  Jock.     And  so  'twill  be  best  for  us  both." 

"No  !"  he  cried.  In  an  agony  of  fright  he  crushed  her  to 
him.  "  You  shall  not  die,  Althea.  I  cannot  let  you.  I  love 
you  too  well.    In  pity  you  must  not  leave  me!    Althea! 


AT  THE  EBB  273 

Althea !  'Tis  only  a  little  longer,  sweet.  Somehow  we  shall 
win  through." 

On  his  own  ears  the  words  rang  hollow.  He  fell  silent, 
struck  dumb  where  he  sat  with  arms  locked  about  her.  He 
felt  her  weight  so  light,  so  feeble  in  his  hold,  and  he  thought 
on  what  she  had  said.  If  she  should  leave  him  in  the  cold 
hours  of  the  night  that  shut  them  round !  If  she  should  slip 
away  from  the  vain  arms  that  clasped  her !  "  You  shall  not 
die !"  he  said,  through  clenched  teeth,  and,  even  in  the  saying, 
knew  how  impotent  were  the  words. 

It  was  at  that  moment  that,  far  off  on  the  pitch-black  com- 
mon, Jock  grew  aware  of  the  thud  of  a  horse's  feet.  With 
sudden  clearness,  as  a  man  in  extremity  will  sometimes  note 
the  paltriest  of  unessential  things,  he  figured  to  himself  what 
manner  of  man  was  riding  yonder.  A  smug  farmer,  no  doubt, 
bound  home  from  market,  perchance,  with  money  in  his 
pocket.  Bitterly  Jock  envied  him  that  money  —  the  money 
that  would  buy  food  and  warmth  and  life  for  Althea,  and  then, 
to  the  envy,  succeeded  a  mood  that  was  more  dangerous. 

Tense  and  nerved  with  desperate  resolution,  Jock  rose  to 
his  feet.     "Give  me  your  kerchief,  lass!"  he  bade. 

"You  cannot  barter  it  for  food,"  she  answered  listlessly, 
as  she  held  it  out  to  him. 

"Ay,  but  I  can!"  he  laughed.  "Stay  you  here  quietly, 
whatever  happen!" 

He  snatched  up  his  cudgel  as  he  spoke,  and  at  a  swift, 
noiseless  run  started  for  the  road.  In  the  pitchy  dark  he 
lost  some  breathless  moments  ere  he  spied  it,  winding,  a  path 
of  sheer  blackness,  through  the  dusky  masses  of  the  furze 
bushes,  but  the  darkness  was  round  the  horseman  too,  and 
he  came  on  but  slowly.  In  ample  time  for  his  task  Jock 
reached  the  roadside,  where  he  crouched  behind  a  furze  bush. 
He  knew  that  the  darkness  must  hide  his  features,  but  as  an 
added  precaution  he  tied  the  kerchief  across  the  lower  part 


274  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

of  his  face.  Then  he  gripped  his  cudgel  and  waited,  ready  to 
spring,  while  he  heard  the  hoofs  thud  nearer,  nearer,  and 
almost  upon  him  saw  the  black  bulk  of  horse  and  rider  loom 
out  of  the  dark. 

At  a  bound  Jock  landed  in  the  roadway  and  unerringly 
gripped  the  bridle,  as  the  startled  horse  veered  to  one  side. 
"Out  with  your  purse,  man,  else  I  give  fire!"  he  cried. 

For  answer  he  saw  the  rider's  arm  swing  up  above  his  head. 
Next  instant  he  saw  the  inky  sky  shot  with  a  million  star 
points,  he  felt  the  earth  go  from  beneath  his  feet,  and  whirl- 
ing through  an  infinite  emptiness,  he  landed  with  a  jarring 
shock,  and  from  that  moment  lost  track  of  time  and  space. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  VOICE   FROM  THE   DARK 

In  the  depths  where  Jock  lay,  bUnd  and  dumb,  with  no 
sense  left  him  save  the  muffled  sense  of  hearing,  he  caught, 
faint  and  far  off  on  the  surface  of  things,  as  it  were,  the  sound 
of  men's  voices. 

"Who  is  the  rascal?" 

"A  devil  of  this  plaguy  darkness  I    How  can  I  see?" 

"  Stand  still,  ye  villain !"  This,  a  third  voice,  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  a  horse's  restless  pawing. 

"Where  a'  Heaven's  name  is  his  pistol?"  the  first  voice 
began  again. 

"I  know  not,  nor  do  I  care.     I  have  him  fast." 

Of  this  Jock  was  sensibly  aware,  for  rousing  slowly  from 
his  trance,  he  felt  the  heavy  pressure  of  a  hand  at  his  throat 
and  saw  the  dim  outlines  of  a  man  that  knelt  above  him. 
With  a  tantalized  feeling  that  this  had  all  happened  afore- 
time, that,  were  his  numbed  brain  able  to  work,  he  could  link 
the  present  with  the  past,  he  lay  and  wondered. 

"Where  the  vengeance  can  his  pistol  be?"  the  first  voice 
once  more  grew  plaintive. 

"A  question  if  he  had  one!"  growled  the  man  that  held 
Jock. 

"  Then  for  Heaven's  love,  let  him  go,"  cried  the  third  speaker, 
"  for  as  impudent  a  courageous  rogue  as  ever  'scaped  hanging ! " 

Then  it  was  that  Jock,  struggling  as  beneath  a  weight  to 

275 


276  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

throw  off  the  palsy  of  tongue  and  thought  that  bore  upon  him, 
heard  another  voice  speak,  clear  and  unafraid :  "  I  do  beseech 
you,  sirs.  This  is  my  husband.  In  mercy  let  me  come  unto 
him." 

At  the  sound  of  that  voice  Jock  felt  life  stir  in  him  again 
—  would  have  felt  it,  he  knew,  had  he  lain  six  feet  beneath 
the  earth.  He  made  an  effort  —  an  effort  that  racked  all 
his  body  —  and  he  succeeded  in  finding  speech.  "Altheal" 
he  whispered,  and  again,  "Althea!" 

He  knew  that  the  hand  that  had  gripped  his  throat  was 
withdrawn,  and  next  instant  he  felt  himself  drifting,  rising 
through  space,  and  found  himself  again,  lying  with  his  head 
upon  the  girl's  lap.  He  felt  her  arms  about  him,  felt  her 
whole  body  bend  sheltering  above  him,  and  heard  the  quick 
flutter  of  her  breath. 

"And  who  may  you  be,  wench?" 

The  voice  of  the  first  speaker,  the  man  that  had  been  so 
solicitous  about  the  pistol,  was  insolent.  In  the  dark  Jock 
could  feel  that  he  was  drawing  near.  Afraid  for  Althea,  he 
spurred  his  brain  that  groped  about  the  chasm  and  with 
a  tremendous  endeavor  bridged  the  gulf.  "Verney!"  he 
gasped.     "  Verney  Claybourne !" 

He  could  feel  the  presence  of  the  man  that  had  held  him, 
who  now  was  bending  over  him,  close,  as  if  by  his  mere  close- 
ness he  would  pierce  the  dark.  "In  the  name  of  wonder! 
who  are  you?"  came  the  voice  that  he  knew  for  Verney 's. 

"  Jock  Hetherington,"  he  whispered  in  answer.  "  And  this 
my  wife  —  my  wife  —  be  kind  unto  her." 

He  dropped  down  again,  down  and  down  into  his  old  place 
of  darkness  and  helplessness  and  pain.  He  heard  about  him 
a  murmur  of  voices,  and  then  the  thud  of  a  horse's  hoofs  fast 
dying  away  on  the  common.  Murmur  of  voices  still,  once  a 
dash  of  cold  water  in  his  face  that  made  him  groan,  and  a 
mouthful  of  spirits,  forced  between  his  teeth,  that  half  choked 


A  VOICE  FROM  THE  DARK  277 

him.  Always  the  girl's  arms  about  him,  her  presence  fend- 
ing him,  and  for  her  sake  he  fought  for  consciousness,  till  the 
power  to  fight  was  no  longer  in  him. 

He  roused  once  more  in  keen  torture,  to  find  himself  laid 
upon  straw  in  the  bottom  of  a  cart  that  jolted  cruelly,  and  still 
the  girl  held  his  head,  and  realizing,  he  smothered  the  groan 
that  rose  to  his  lips.  Once  again,  half  conscious,  he  knew 
that  there  was  candlelight  about  him  and  he  hoped  to  see 
her  face,  but  his  eyes  ached  so  in  the  light  that  he  was  fain  to 
close  them.  But  afterward,  when  he  was  lying  in  bed,  he 
reached  out  his  hand  in  perfect  trust,  and  found  her  hand, 
and  holding  to  it,  slept. 

He  woke  in  the  lazy  daylight  of  high  noon,  sore-headed 
and  cross  in  consequence.  He  was  lying  cosily  in  an  unfa- 
miliar bed,  with  his  face  to  an  unfamiliar  wainscotted  wall, 
and  when  he  put  up  his  hand,  he  found  that  his  head  was 
bandaged  in  an  unfamiliar  and  annoying  fashion.  He  turned 
himself  and  his  head  with  infinite  craft,  and  he  saw  the  dia- 
monds of  sunlight,  matching  the  diamond  panes  of  the  window, 
that  lay  upon  the  dark  floor,  and  then,  as  he  blinked  the  light 
from  his  eyes,  he  caught  a  gleam  of  color,  not  quite  hidden 
by  the  heavy  hangings  of  the  bed. 

"What's  there?"  he  asked. 

In  answer  Althea  came  from  behind  the  curtain  where  she 
had  been  sitting  and  stood  by  the  bedside.  Her  face  was 
pale  and  her  eyes  were  big,  but  her  eyes  were  happy,  and  her 
lips  smiled  in  a  way  that  of  late  they  had  forgotten.  She 
wore  a  gown  of  the  color  of  ashes  that  showed,  in  the  sunlight, 
gleams  of  dull  rose,  —  an  old-fashioned  gown  that  gave  a 
greater  glimpse  of  her  soft  throat  and  white  neck  than  ever 
her  kerchief  had  permitted.  She  looked  a  little  woman,  a 
quaint,  sweet,  and  most  lovable  little  woman. 

Jock  caught  her  two  hands  as  she  held  them  out  to  him 
"Well,  Althea?"   he  asked.     "It  is  well?" 


278  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

"Surely,  now  that  you  are  better,"  she  answered,  and  smiled 
down  at  him  with  such  a  look  in  her  eyes  that  he  had  good  hope 
that  she  would,  unasked,  bend  and  kiss  him,  and  was  a  little 
dashed  in  spirits  when  she  did  nothing  of  the  sort. 

"  This  is  Claybourne  manor,"  she  went  on,  and  in  a  sisterly 
fashion  that  was  not  what  he  desired  sat  herself  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed.  "Mr.  Claybourne  had  you  brought  hither,  and 
oh !  that  churl  in  the  field  maligned  his  mother  shamefully, 
for  she  has  been  kinder  almost  than  any  woman  I  have  ever 
known.  She  even  lent  me  this  gown.  'Tis  one  she  wore 
when  a  girl." 

"  'Tis  a  pretty  gown,"  said  Jock.  "  And  you  are  pretty  in 
it!"   he  added. 

She  blushed,  casting  down  her  eyes,  at  this,  the  first  silly 
little  loverlike  compliment  that  ever  he  had  paid  her.  He 
watched  her,  wondering,  hoping  from  her  confusion,  and  then, 
in  that  moment  of  hesitancy,  the  door  of  the  chamber  was 
opened  and  on  the  threshold,  most  unwelcome  at  that  juncture, 
appeared  Verney  Claybourne. 

From  a  distance  Verney  smiled  upon  the  pair,  with  much 
the  same  quality  of  amusement  with  which  Jock  himself 
would  have  viewed  Rafe  Heyroun's  Phil  and  his  little  sister. 
"  And  how  fares  your  —  husband,"  he  asked,  "  Mistress  Heth- 
erington  ?  " 

Althea  colored  still  more  deeply  at  the  unwonted  title,  and 
rose,  and  releasing  Jock's  hand,  with  the  least  possible  press- 
ure, stole  from  the  room  and  left  him  to  his  friend. 

In  the  next  half  hour  Jock  became  wiser  by  several  pieces 
of  information.  He  learned,  first,  that  Verney  had  been  on 
his  way  home  the  night  before  with  Will  Framlingham  and 
Dick  Tevery,  whom  he  had  bidden  to  his  house.  Jock  read 
between  the  lines,  though  Verney  did  not  say  it  in  so  many 
words,  that  the  three  gentlemen  had  paid  their  ransoms  a 
fortnight  ago,  and  since  then  had  console^  themselves  for  the 


A  VOICE  PROM  THE  DARK  279 

failure  of  their  cause  by  a  period  of  glorious  revelry  at  the 
house  of  Dick's  kinsman  in  Bedfordshire.  Second,  he  learned 
that  Verney  had  been  riding  ahead  of  his  friends,  in  search 
of  the  road  which  they  had  lost  in  the  dark,  and  as  he  knew 
the  common  was  a  notorious  place  for  padders,  had  carried 
his  pistol  in  his  hand. 

"And  you  may  thank  the  good  luck  of  the  Cavaliers," 
said  Verney,  "  that  I  gave  you  the  butt  of  the  pistol  instead 
of  the  barrel." 

Jock  looked  rueful,  and  gingerly  touched  his  aching  head. 
"  'Tis  ill  enough  to  content  me  as  'tis,"  he  muttered. 

"And  to  content  me,"  rejoined  Verney,  with  some  grim- 
ness.  "  I  'scaped  your  temple  by  the  width  of  a  hair,  and  you'll 
have  a  brave  scar  on  the  forehead  will  bear  you  company  to 
your  grave  —  if  ever  you  lie  decently  in  a  grave,"  he  amended. 
"  You're  like  to  swing  in  chains  if  you  get  the  habit  of  going 
the  gait  you  went  last  night.  The  stark  impudence  of  you 
to  bid  me  stand  and  deliver,  and  you  with  no  pistol  and 
scarce  the  strength  to  keep  steady  on  your  two  legs!" 

A  prudent  harping  on  this  theme  of  the  general  madness 
of  his  behavior,  reduced  Jock  to  a  state  of  such  abject 
humility  that  he  acquiesced  in  Verney's  third  piece  of 
information :  namely,  that  he  and  his  wife  —  in  his  own 
despite  Verney  still  smiled  at  the  idea  of  Jock's  having  a 
wife  —  were  to  rest  safe  at  Claybourne  manor  until  such  time 
as  he  was  fully  recovered,  and  as  long  thereafter  as  they 
might  be  pleased  to  stay. 

With  his  mind  at  rest  as  to  the  needs  of  the  immediate 
future,  Jock  made  a  quick  recovery,  in  which  he  was  retarded, 
rather  than  furthered,  by  the  assiduous  kindness  of  his  three 
old  comrades  in  arms  and  adversity.  They  talked  and  cross- 
questioned  and  chaffed  him  into  a  nervous  bad  temper,  and 
then,  vowing  his  ill  humor  a  good  sign  of  convalescence, 
they  cheerfully,  after  the  manner  of  their  kind,  left  him  to 


280  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

the  forbearance  of  the  women,  while  they  went  about  their 
own  business  or  pleasure. 

As  a  result,  Jock  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mistress  Clay- 
bourne,  a  mild,  small  old  gentlewoman  when  viewed  at  a 
distance,  but  when  viewed  closer,  blessed  with  a  pair  of  snap- 
ping black  eyes  and  a  determined  chin  that  lent  plausibility 
to  the  ditcher's  hint  as  to  her  character.  In  her  dealings 
with  her  son  Verney  she  reminded  Jock  of  a  small  black 
Spanish  hen,  trying  to  mother  a  large  and  self-willed  duck 
of  her  own  eternally  surprised  hatching.  But  she  was  kind 
to  Althea,  who,  by  some  whimsical  stroke  of  fortune,  had 
won  her  heart,  and  she  was  tolerant  of  Jock,  whom  she  seemed 
to  hold  by  virtue  of  his  married  state  to  be  the  least  disrepu- 
table of  her  son's  three  friends.  Somewhat  in  return  for  her 
kindness,  somewhat  because  he  was  a  little  afraid  of  her, 
Jock  was  resolutely  good  tempered  and  meek  —  almost  civil 
and  circumspect,  in  short  —  in  Mistress  Claybourne's  presence. 

With  Althea,  as  a  matter  of  course,  he  bridled  his  temper 
and  stifled  what  complaints  were  likely,  between  pain  and 
weariness,  to  be  wrung  from  him.  He  would  do  nothing  that 
would  give  her  pretext  to  leave  him,  so  eager  was  he  for  every 
least  minute  of  her  companionship.  He  said  little  to  her  in 
those  hours  of  his  convalescence,  since,  by  his  own  pledge, 
he  was  bound  to  say  nothing  of  what  he  desired  to  say, 
but  he  watched  her  hungrily.  She  had  a  favorite  corner  on 
the  broad  window  seat,  where  the  sunlight  fell  upon  her  hair 
and  her  hands,  and  there  she  would  sit  by  the  hour,  henmiing 
linen  for  Mistress  Claybourne  or  reading  aloud  from  a  brown 
book  with  clasps,  of  which  he  never  even  asked  the  title  or 
guessed  the  contents,  or  perhaps  singing  a  snatch  of  tune, 
more  to  herself  than  to  him.  If  he  spoke,  she  was  ready 
always,  eager  and  alert  to  fetch  and  carry,  to  be  of  any  service 
to  him.  If  she  had  been  his  own  sister,  he  reflected  bitterly, 
she  could  not  have  been  kinder  or  more  considerate. 


A  VOICE  FROM  THE  DARK  281 

At  times  he  wondered  if,  by  any  chance,  he  had  dreamed 
some  passages  of  their  pilgrimage  that  were  graven  on  his 
mind,  and  one  afternoon,  goaded  by  her  calm  self-control, 
he  probed  the  place  brutally.  "  This  is  a  snugger  haven  than 
we  looked  to  have  that  last  night,  when  we  sat  under  the 
furze  bushes  there  on  Claybourne  common,"  he  spoke  out  of 
a  sudden. 

She  nodded,  bending  her  face  lower  above  her  sewing. 

"Do  you  remember  that  night?*"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  not  quite  steadily.  "I  was  cruelly 
cold  and  wearied,  and  almost  giddy-headed  for  lack  of  food. 
Indeed,  I  was  not  myself  that  night.  I  pray  you,  Jock, 
believe  that." 

She  turned  away  her  face  as  she  spoke,  but  from  the  wav- 
ering tone  of  her  voice  he  could  have  sworn  that  she  was  near 
to  crying.  With  a  request  for  a  drink  of  water,  he  gave  her 
good  excuse  to  leave  the  room,  and  when  she  once  was  gone 
he  buried  his  face  in  his  arms.  What  a  churl  he  had  been ! 
Poor,  little,  friendless  lass,  cold,  and  hungry,  and  wearied, 
who  had  clung  to  him  for  comfort  and  for  sympathy,  and  he 
had  sought  to  misconstrue  that  human  longing  of  hers  into 
a  declaration  of  love !  From  head  to  foot  he  tingled  with 
the  shame  of  the  realization.  When  he  heard  her  reenter 
the  room,  he  lay  quiet,  and  as  a  penance  feigned  to  be 
asleep  so  that  she  went  away  and  left  him. 

From  that  hour  he  found  the  girl's  friendly  presence  less 
of  a  comfort,  more  of  a  torture  to  him.  Spurred  by  the  desire 
to  end  a  phase  of  intimacy  that  must  be  as  hard,  in  its  differ- 
ent way,  for  her  as  for  him,  he  declared  that  he  was  well  again, 
and  in  any  case,  was  weary  of  sick-room  imprisonment.  So 
importunate  was  he  that  presently,  with  a  white  face  and  a 
bandaged  head,  he  was  up  and  lagging  about  the  house  and 
the  stable.  He  won  a  boisterous  welcome  from  Tevery  and 
Framlingham,  who  still  lingered  at  the  manor  house,  to  the 


282  THE  FAIR  MAID  OP  GRAYSTONES 

disrelish  of  its  mistress,  and  straightway  he  fell  to  planning 
with  them  for  his  next  step. 

In  sequel,  he  sought  out  Althea  one  morning  for  a  prac- 
tical talk.  He  found  her  alone  in  the  hall,  half  hidden  in 
a  vast  apron  and  busied  in  polishing  a  precious  silver  flagon 
which  Mistress  Clayboume  had  hitherto  suffered  none  but 
herself  to  handle.  She  sat  back  to  him,  and  he  noted  that 
she  started  at  the  sound  of  his  step  and  held  herself  with  what 
he  read  as  tense  expectancy  in  every  line  of  her  body.  Dully 
he  wondered  if  she  were  afraid  of  him. 

He  sat  himself  upon  a  corner  of  the  table  near  her.  "  I've 
been  planning  for  us  both,  Althea,"  he  said.  He  was  careful, 
in  these  latter  days,  to  use  no  terms  of  endearment  that 
might  offend  her. 

"And  what  plan  have  you  hit  upon?"  she  asked,  intent 
on  the  flagon. 

"  You  are  to  stay  as  long  as  it  may  please  you  with  Mistress 
Claybourne.  She  has  no  daughters  of  her  own,  and  she  is 
very  fain  of  your  company.    You  will  stay?" 

She  bowed  her  head.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "and  glad  to.  I 
have  been  very  happy,  here  in  this  house,"  she  added  timidly, 
and  then  blushed  red. 

He  thought  she  feared  the  misconstruction  that  he,  proved 
once  a  self-sufficient  coxcomb,  might  put  upon  her  words, 
and  he  strove  to  set  that  fear  at  rest.  "  To  be  sure,  you  must 
have  been  happy,"  he  said  bluffly.  "Mistress  Claybourne 
has  been  most  gracious  to  you." 

He  was  so  pleased  with  his  own  tactfulness  that  he  lapsed 
into  admiring  silence,  and  it  was  Althea  who  resumed  the 
conversation.  "And  meantime,"  said  she,  in  a  casual  voice, 
while  she  kept  her  eyes  on  the  flagon,  "whither  do  you  go, 
Jock?" 

"To  the  Low  Countries  with  Dick  and  Will,"  he  answered. 
"  By  the  terms  of  their  parole  they  must  leave  England  before 


A  VOICE  FROM  THE  DARK  288 

the  first  day  of  December.  I  go  with  them,  back  to  my  old 
trade,  Althea,  I  hope  to  win  me  a  commission  and  to  speed 
well,  and  if  I  am  so  fortuned,  I  shall  return  a  year  hence  to 
Claybourne."  He  spoke  with  dogged  determination,  and  he 
had  it  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  to  add  in  the  same  strain, 
"And  then  I  shall  woo  you  as  if  this  accursed  marriage  that 
has  botched  all  had  never  been  between  us,  and  if  God  is  good, 
mayhap  I  shall  win  you." 

But  he  did  not  say  the  words.  Empty-handed  as  he  was, 
he  held  that  he  had  no  right  to  make  himself  a  wooer,  even 
of  the  girl  that  was  his  wife  in  name.  He  half  hoped  that 
she  might  make  some  outcry  at  his  going,  but  she  polished 
the  flagon  in  silence,  so  he  paid  her  a  compliment,  half  laugh- 
ing, for  a  notable  thrifty  housewife,  and  turned  to  the  door. 

On  the  threshold  her  voice  stayed  him.  "And  when  do 
you  purpose  to  go  upon  this  journey,  Jock?" 

"  Day  after  to-morrow  we  look  to  ride,"  he  answered,  and 
not  daring  to  glance  at  her,  lest  he  find  her  rejoiced  at  the 
nearness  of  his  departure,  went  away. 

That  evening  the  silver  fiagon,  albeit  of  Mistress  Clay- 
bourne's  best  and  bright  with  Althea's  patient  polishing,  was 
mercilessly  requisitioned.  The  day,  as  it  chanced,  was  the 
fifth  of  November,  a  date  of  baffled  treason  that  it  behooved 
all  loyal  gentlemen  to  celebrate  with  deep  drinking,  and  more- 
over, it  was  the  first  evening  that  Jock,  still  in  a  white  state 
of  convalescence,  had  consented  to  touch  wine.  Hence  the 
flagon,  gleaming  under  the  candlelight,  and  a  generous  store 
of  sherris  and  Alicant,  and  four  loyal  gentlemen  gathered 
round  the  table  in  the  hall  at  Claybourne  manor  house. 

With  doors  discreetly  closed  upon  the  serving  folk,  and 
shutters  discreetly  fastened,  they  drank  the  king's  health 
on  their  knees,  and  they  drank  confusion  to  his  enemies, 
standing,  hand  on  sword.  By  a  natural  transition,  when  they 
were  in  their  seats  again,  they  fell  to  discussing  that  portion 


284  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

of  the  king's  enemies  that  had  held  them  captive  at  Colchester, 
and  all  the  varying  fortunes  of  war,  tragic  at  the  time,  but 
now  grown  laughable. 

Then  it  was  that  Verney  spoke,  soberly,  but  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eyes,  "Jock,  I'll  give  you  the  best  horse  in  my  stable 
for  a  complete  and  veracious  account  of  all  that  befell  you 
from  the  time  you  left  St.  Andrew's." 

So  many  times  and  so  untactfuUy  had  Jock  been  urged  to 
disclosure  by  his  friends  that  it  were  doubtful  now  if  even  hot 
pincers  could  have  wrung  from  him  the  desired  information. 
"I've  naught  to  tell,"  he  said  shortly.  "I  went  in  Captain 
Hetherington's  stead  to  a  house  called  Graystones  whence  I 
took  my  wife.  And  I  left  there  three  gentlemen  with  whom 
I  hope  to  have  further  speech  —  one  Captain  Wogan  of  the 
Parliament  army,  one  Philip  Heyroun,  master  of  Graystones, 
and  one  Esdras  Inchcome,  a  lawyer  of  Bury  St.  Edmund's." 

Verney  gave  a  shout.  "Inchcome,  do  you  say?  Esdras 
Inchcome?  Why,  Jock,  'tis  on  my  preserves  that  you  are 
poaching  now.  The  man  is  my  lawyer,  and  my  father's  be- 
fore me.  A  little,  sly,  gray  devil,  but  staunch  timber.  'Twas 
he  that  handled  the  business  of  my  ransom." 

Jock  looked  upon  the  speaker,  and  then  struck  his  forehead 
with  a  gesture  as  if  he  would  fain  have  boxed  his  own  ears. 
"So  you  were  the  Cambridgeshire  client!"  he  cried.  "A 
plague  upon  Inchcome  that  he  never  spoke  your  name,  and 
a  plague  catch  me  for  a  fool  that  I  never  asked  it !  I'd  have 
saved  myself  a  mort  of  trouble,  could  I  have  called  on  you 
to  vouch  for  me." 

Then,  because  it  was  of  little  use  to  cry  over  milk  that  was 
spilt,  Jock  laughed.  "Faith,  Verney,"  he  said,  "for  your 
sake  I'll  forgive  Inchcome  all  that  I  owe  him,  but  for  the 
other  brace  of  gentlemen  that  I  met  at  Graystones — " 

"  Curse  yourself,"  advised  Tevery,  "  that  you  took  another 
man's  name  and  thrust  into  his  danger.'* 


A  VOICE  FROM  THE  DARK  285 

Said  Jock,  "I'd  liefer  curse  that  other  man." 

Tevery  laughed  and  Framlingham  joined  in.  Warm,  lazy, 
well  content,  in  their  brief  harborage  ere  they  launched  out 
again  into  the  storm  they  loved,  the  two  soldiers  of  fortune 
were  bound  to  find  merriment  that  night  in  all  things.  But 
Claybourne,  bred  to  gentler  thinking  in  the  old  Cambridge- 
shire manor  house,  frowned  never  so  slightly. 

"Jock,"  he  said,  "your  cousin,  Captain  Hetherington,  died 
that  night  after  you  were  taken  from  St.  Andrew's.  And  ere 
he  died  he  spoke  of  you,  and  he  spoke  kindly." 

Jock  looked  at  the  speaker,  with  level  gray  eyes  beneath 
the  white  bandage  that  was  about  his  forehead.  "Is  it  so?" 
he  said  unmoved.  "Then  he  must  have  been  in  mad 
delirium." 

"At  times,  yes,"  answered  Verney.  He  gazed  beyond 
Jock,  seeing  again  the  bare  walls  and  the  flagstones  of  St. 
Andrew's,  the  sparse  streaks  of  lantern  light  athwart  the 
dark,  and  the  face  of  the  dying  man  —  the  worn,  wicked, 
older  face,  that  yet  bore  in  it  so  much  of  Jock's  look. 
"Still,  at  moments,"  Verney  resumed,  "Captain  Hetherington 
was  himself  and  he  knew,  albe  'twas  through  mistake  of 
yours,  that  you  had  avenged  him  upon  the  man  Pedock. 
He  spoke  of  you.  He  called  you  a  cursed  httle  ruffian,  and 
then  he  muttered  something  of  atonement  —  atonement  for 
the  dog." 

Jock  caught  breath.  "  He  said  that  —  my  cousin  said 
that?    Then  he  remembered  my  dog  that  he  slew?" 

"  A  droll  thing  for  a  man  to  bring  to  mind  upon  his  death- 
bed," murmured  Framlingham. 

"  I  do  not  hold  it  so,"  said  Jock. 

He  turned  a  little  from  his  comrades  and  sat  with  eyes 
downbent.  So  his  cousin  had  remembered  —  at  the  last  he 
had  remembered,  as  Jock,  with  a  child's  bursting  heart,  with 
a  boy's  settled  hate,  had  prayed  that  he  might  remember  at 


286  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

his  passing  hour.  Slowly  he  felt  his  grudge  against  his  kins- 
man die.  If  the  man  had  remembered,  so  poignantly  that 
that  scene  of  long  ago  had  flashed  before  his  dying  eyes,  that, 
perhaps,  were  punishment  enough.  In  whatever  dark  place 
that  dark  soul  now  strayed,  Jock  let  it  go  unburdened  with 
his  hatred. 

It  was  in  a  subdued  voice  that  presently  he  asked,  "Was 
that  all  that  my  cousin  said?" 

"All  that  was  of  moment,"  Vemey  answered.  "After  he 
spoke  of  atonement  his  mind  seemed  to  stray.  He  said  some- 
what of  making  some  one  pay  swingeingly;  somewhat  of  old 
days  in  Daske  Forest  —  he  seemed  to  think  himself  a  lad 
again;  somewhat  of  a  girl  in  High  Germany;  and  now  and 
again  he  spoke  of  a  little  deal  box." 

Jock's  stool  went  crashing  to  the  floor,  as  he  launched  him- 
self forward  on  the  table.  "That  pestilence  deal  box!"  he 
cried.  "  Vemey,  man !  In  Heaven's  name,  what  did  he  say 
of  the  deal  box?" 

Tevery  stared  with  dropping  jaw,  Framlingham  puckered 
his  brows,  and  Verney's  face  was  blank.  Whatever  recollec- 
tion they  kept  of  delirious  ravings,  uttered  two  months  be- 
fore, had  been  driven  from  their  heads  by  Jock's  vehemence. 

Jock  saw  his  error,  and  pulling  himself  erect,  tried  to  speak 
more  steadily.  "  Can't  you  remember,  Verney  ?  Think !  It 
means  much  to  me.     Think,  man!    Think!" 

"Can  you  remember  aught?"  Verney  appealed  to  Fram- 
lingham. 

"  He  said  the  box  was  a  sure  get-penny,  or  some  such  folly," 
Framlingham  contributed. 

After  a  desperate  moment  of  brain-racking,  Verney  added, 
"  He  said  that  under  a  man's  nose  was  the  surest  hiding-place. 
Was'tnotso,  Will?" 

Tevery,  tilted  back  on  his  stool  in  an  agony  of  thought, 
dropped  forward  with  a  crash.    "Look  youl"  he  cried  tri- 


A  VOICE  FROM  THE  DARK  287 

umphantly.  "Something  Johnny  Hetherington  said  of  a 
stone  seat!" 

"That  had  to  do  with  the  girl  in  Germany,  had  it  not?" 
objected  FramHngham. 

Jock  scarcely  heard  him.  All  at  once,  straightened,  dis- 
entangled, he  saw  the  threads  of  the  web  that  so  long  had 
baffled  him  running  smoothly  under  his  hand.  The  little  deal 
box,  the  gift  of  which  was  to  be  his  cousin's  atonement,  the 
box  that  would  prove  to  him  a  sure  get-penny,  for  which 
Philip  was  to  pay  swingeingly,  the  little  box  that,  by 
Philip's  own  tale,  was  left  in  the  Captain's  hands,  was  hidden 
under  Philip's  very  nose.  In  his  mind's  eye  Jock  saw  a  stone 
seat  —  the  stone  seat  at  the  head  of  the  garden  at  Gray- 
stones,  the  very  stone  seat  where  he  himself  had  sat  kicking 
his  heels  one  day  of  doubt  and  discouragement. 

With  a  sudden  catch  of  laughter  he  turned  to  his  friends, 
and  there  was  that  in  his  bearing  that  made  them  give  over 
their  loud  wrangle  as  to  the  place  that  the  girl  in  High  Ger- 
many had  in  the  story. 

"Lads!"  said  Jock,  "Is  there  any  among  you  will  go 
with  me  adventuring  ?  I'm  minded  to  trace  back  my  way  to 
Graystones,  ay,  and  for  the  sake  of  him  that  now  is  master 
of  Graystones,  to  go  myself  a-hunting  for  that  famous  little 
deal  box." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  LEAGUE  OF  THE  UNLIKELY 

EsDRAS  Inchcome,  a  bachelor  by  habit  and  by  nature, 
dwelt  on  an  ancient  street  in  Bury  St.  Edmund's,  in  an  an- 
cient house,  half  timbered  without,  and  within  a  labyrinth 
of  twisting  passages  and  unexpected  steps  and  odd  little  doors 
set  in  the  dull  wainscot.  Great  rafters  spanned  the  low  ceil- 
ings of  the  rooms,  and  the  walls  were  Uned  with  heavy  presses, 
blackened  with  age,  that  gave  out  an  odor  of  musty  parch- 
ments. 

In  this  dim  legal  wilderness  thrived  Esdras  Inchcome,  under 
the  ministrations  of  a  deaf  old  kinswoman  who  was  a  trium- 
phant cook  and  not  talkative.  On  this  November  day,  in 
her  wonted  silence,  she  had  laid  the  table  at  noon  in  Inch- 
come's  favorite  dim  chamber  in  the  first  story,  setting  out  a 
carbonadoed  tongue  of  her  own  delectable  concocting,  and  a 
crusty  loaf,  and  a  modest  tankard  of  Gascoigne  wine,  and  then 
discreetly  had  withdrawn  to  the  obscure  lower  fastnesses  of 
the  old  house. 

In  sober  approval  Inchcome  was  making  his  dinner,  read- 
ing the  while  from  a  brown  Tacitus,  propped  before  him 
against  a  volume  of  Coke,  when  the  aged  kinswoman  burst 
breathless  upon  him.  "Cousin  Esdras!"  she  began,  and 
stopped  as  if  affrighted  at  her  own  garrulity. 

Inchcome  turned  a  page  of  the  Tacitus.  "What  is  it, 
woman?"  he  shouted,  mindful  of  her  infirmity. 

288 


THE  LEAGUE  OF  THE  UNLIKELY  289 

"Four  gentlemen  to  speak  with  you.  He  says  his  name  is 
Hetherington." 

For  a  perceptible  moment  Inchcome  hesitated,  while  he 
reflected  upon  several  matters,  chief  of  which  was  the  look  on 
Jock  Hetherington's  face  on  a  former  occasion,  when  Jock  had 
promised,  in  a  certain  contingency,  to  pay  him  a  visit.  Also 
in  that  moment  did  the  little  lawyer  repent  of  the  jaunty 
reference  that,  in  his  last  interview  with  Jock,  he  had  made 
to  the  stocks  and  to  common  vagabonds. 

Still,  Inchcome  was  no  coward,  so,  after  a  glance  into  the 
drawer  of  the  table,  right  beneath  his  hand,  where  his  pistols 
lay,  he  raised  his  voice  to  an  encouraging  shout,  "Bid  them 
come  hither,  then!" 

When  the  woman  had  gone,  he  went  on  with  his  dinner, 
though  soon  he  found  himself  eating  to  the  accompaniment  of 
loud  trampling  up  the  stair  and  down  the  passage  that  led  to 
his  door.  With  unpremeditated  noise  the  invaders  entered, 
for  Tevery,  in  ignorance  of  the  pitfalls  of  Inchcome's  dwell- 
ing, pitched  down  the  step  into  the  room,  and  Verney,  being 
a  tall  man,  just  missed  braining  himself  against  one  of  the 
rafters  that  supported  the  ceiling. 

But  Jock,  with  a  catlike  quality  of  keeping  his  feet,  landed 
safe  in  the  room,  and  halted  squarely  and  firmly  at  the  side 
of  the  table  opposite  Inchcome.  He  was  white,  with  a  fresh 
scar  above  the  temple,  and  he  was  shabby  in  the  doublet  and 
breeches  that  had  been  Lieutenant  Phil's,  but  he  had  ac- 
quired a  sword,  and  a  horseman's  boots  and  hat  and  cloak, 
and  thereto  he  had  a  grim  manner  of  self-control,  far  different 
from  the  shaken  state  in  which  Inchcome  last  had  seen  him. 

"  I've  come  to  speak  with  you,"  Jock  threw  out  Uke  a  chal- 
lenge. 

"And  you  bring  three  interpreters?"  said  Inchcome, 
quietly. 

Tevery  struck  in.     "The  odds  were  against  our  comrade 


290  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

when  you  dealt  with  him  last,  d'ye  mind?  So  this  time 
we've  come  along  to  see  fair  play." 

Luckily  at  that  danger  point  Verney  came  out  of  the  comer 
where  he  had  been  nursing  his  bumped  head,  and  claiming 
acquaintance  with  Inchcome,  set  matters  on  a  more  amicable 
basis.  With  such  guarantee  of  pacific  purpose,  Inchcome 
bade  his  guests  be  seated,  a  process  accomplished  without 
incident,  save  that  Framlingham,  muttering  that  he  was  fain 
to  have  more  light,  started  to  put  aside  the  curtain  that 
masked  the  window  and  brought  it  away  entirely.  In  the 
flood  of  cobwebby  daylight  that  brought  a  ghostly  sense  of 
strangeness  to  the  room,  half  darkened  for  long,  Jock  and 
Inchcome,  as  they  had  done  several  times  before,  held  con- 
ference. 

"First,"  said  Jock,  in  his  old  aggressive  attitude,  sitting 
forward  with  his  folded  arms  on  the  table,  "  tell  me  truly,  sir. 
Is  there  a  second  will  in  your  lost  deal  box  that  will  supersede 
the  one  now  in  force?" 

"Absolutely,"  replied  Inchcome. 

"Under  this  second  will,  who  is  like  to  benefit?" 

Inchcome  smiled.  "  My  good  sir,  the  heirs  of  the  late  Philip 
Heyroun  have  asked  me  that  question  at  least  thrice  each 
week  in  the  past  four  months."  He  paid  Jock's  intelligence 
the  compliment  of  not  carrying  his  speech  to  a  conclusion. 

"Can  you  tell  me  this?"  Jock  changed  his  note.  "Will 
the  second  will,  the  true  will,  put  a  spoke  among  the  wheels 
of  the  present  heir  of  Graystones?" 

Inchcome  smiled,  a  pale  and  wicked  smile,  and  nodded. 

Jock  smiled  too.  "Then  I  have  a  clew  to  the  whereabouts 
of  that  deal  box,"  he  said. 

In  their  joint  hatred  of  the  chestnut-haired  Philip,  Inch- 
come and  Jock,  for  once,  were  in  accord.  Without  waste 
of  words  Jock  told  what  he  knew  and  surmised  of  the  where- 
abouts of  the  lost  deal  box,  and  what  the  chestnut-haired 


THE  LEAGUE  OF  THE  UNLIKELY  291 

Philip,  under  constraint,  had  confessed  at  the  ford  on  the 
Clegden  road,  and  at  that  last  piece  of  information,  in  brief 
words  and  pointed,  Inchcome  set  forth  his  disapproval  of 
Captain  Wogan. 

"  If  the  man  had  had  but  an  ounce  of  boiled  brains  in  his 
skull,"  said  Inchcome,  "he  would  have  told  me  this  tale, 
even  as  you  say  that  you  told  it  unto  him.  Thus  we  should 
have  had  a  clew  to  follow,  full  three  weeks  ago.  Now,  every 
day  has  made  less  our  hope  to  find  the  box,  if  it  be  hid  within 
the  limits  of  Graystones.  'Tis  a  slender  chance  you  offer  us, 
yet  'tis  worth  the  proving."  Abruptly  he  turned  to  Jock. 
"And  what's  your  price  for  this  information,  eh?" 

Jock  grinned.  "You've  read  me  rarely,  sir.  There  is  a 
price,  yes,  and  'tis  that  I  go  with  you  to  Graystones  and  at 
my  own  good  pleasiu-e  speak  five  minutes  alone  with  Philip 
Heyroun." 

"  Let  me  be  your  second,"  said  Tevery. 

Inchcome  softened  to  unusual  good  fellowship,  called  for 
wine,  a  parlous  process  with  his  deaf  kinswoman,  and  made  his 
guests  to  drink.  Somehow,  in  the  sequel,  working  through 
Verney  Claybourne,  he  brought  the  three  gentlemen  to  realize 
that  he  wished  to  speak  alone  with  Jock  and  that  he  did  not 
plot  to  do  him  harm.  So,  at  Verney's  suggestion,  Jock's  allies 
rose  up  noisily  to  take  their  way  back  to  their  inn  and  thence 
to  view  the  town. 

"For,"  said  Tevery,  cheerfully,  "we  shall  see  this  matter 
to  the  end.  We  are  all  going  with  Jock  to  Graystones  to  find 
your  plaguy  Uttle  box!" 

With  this  benediction,  Jock  and  Inchcome  were  left  alone, 
and  Inchcome  was  most  gracious.  He  had  a  place  laid  for 
Jock  at  table,  and  an  olave  pie  fetched  from  the  pantry,  and 
urged  him  to  eat,  an  invitation  which  Jock  obeyed,  though 
with  misgiving.  By  his  experience,  Inchcome  was  most  dan- 
gerous when  most  civil,  but  for  the  life  of  him,  he  could 


292  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

not  guess  what  the  civil  gentleman  would  now  be  driving 
at. 

"I'll  send  a  message  post-haste  to  Mr.  Heyroun  at  Dray- 
cote,"  Inchcome  complimented  Jock  by  making  him  of  his 
counsels.     "He  should  be  with  us  in  this  matter." 

"I've  good  hope,"  said  Jock,  "that  Rafe  Heyroun  may 
draw  profit  from  the  deal  box.  He  has  shown  me  great  kind- 
ness. Can  you  not  tell  me,  sir,  yes  or  no,  whether  he  be  an 
heir  under  this  later  will?" 

Inchcome  gave  Jock  a  look,  a  curious,  sceptical,  half-amused 
look  that  puzzled  the  lad.  "  Upon  your  honor,  Hetherington," 
he  said,  "  had  you  not  learned  from  your  cousin  the  contents 
of  that  will  when  you  came  first  to  Graystones?" 

Jock  made  no  answer,  save  to  push  back  his  stool  in  an 
offended  silence  that  was  so  real  as  almost  to  convince  Inch- 
come. 

The  lawyer  made  his  peace  hastily,  and  at  a  price.  "  I  did 
but  jest  with  you,  sir.  Come,  I  believe  you,  and  I  so  far  trust 
you  that  I'll  tell  you  there  is  that  in  the  later  will  that  will 
be  of  profit  to  Rafe  Heyroun.  By  the  way,"  he  pursued,  all 
the  while  he  studied  Jock,  "  Rafe  sought  you  wildly  when  he 
returned  a  week  ago  from  London.  'Twas  not  in  his  plan 
that  you  should  be  dismissed  unsuccored  and  penniless,  as  I 
mistakenly  had  suffered  you  to  be,  nor  was  he  approving  of 
the  marriage  that  was  made  that  day.  He  sought  for  you, 
and  for  his  little  kinswoman,  your  wife,  but  we  could  find  no 
trace  of  you.     Where  is  the  gentlewoman,  I  pray  you?" 

At  the  question  Jock  froze.  Althea's  wrongs  were  a  ten- 
derer subject  than  his  own.  "  She  is  at  Claybourne  manor," 
he  answered  briefly. 

"'Twas  a  sorry  business,  that  last  day  at  Graystones," 
Inchcome  spoke  gently.  "Perhaps  it  may  be  mended,  how- 
ever.    The  law  has  wide  resources,  Mr.  Hetherington." 

Oddly  enough,  Jock  had  never  thought  of  legal  divorce  as 


THE  LEAGUE  OF  THE  UNLIItELY  293 

a  possibility  between  Althea  and  himself.  With  a  selfish 
sense  of  the  danger  that  she  might  escape  him,  with  a  quiv- 
ering indignation  that  any  one  durst  set  foot  on  that  most 
delicate  ground  between  them,  he  rose  from  the  table. 
"  We've  no  desire  to  be  free  of  each  other,"  he  said,  and  with 
curt  leave-taking  went  away  to  his  friends. 

Would  Rafe  Heyroun,  in  the  same  reckless  fashion,  seek  to 
thrust  into  his  most  sacred  privacy,  Jock  wondered?  He 
knew  that  by  his  bearing  at  this  juncture  Rafe  must  stand 
or  fall  in  his  regard,  and  so  he  waited,  half  in  dread,  for  the 
coming  of  the  man  that  had  been  his  friend.  As  he  discovered 
in  the  sequel,  he  might  have  spared  himself  that  dread. 

On  his  way  from  London  Rafe  had  spent  a  night  at  Hert- 
ford with  Lieutenant  Phil,  and  from  him  had  heard  the  story 
of  Jock's  surrender  upon  Hendie's  islet.  Phil  had  set  forth 
the  tale  as  a  matter  for  laughter,  but  Rafe,  hearing  it,  had  not 
laughed.  Himself  he  had  given  up  much  for  the  sake  of  a 
woman,  who  was  now  his  wife.  Moreover,  in  the  light  of 
what  had  come  later,  he  was  forced  to  recall  the  evening  in 
the  barley  field  and  to  take  shame  to  himself.  Whatever 
side  Jock  had  fought  on,  he  had  at  least  been  honest  in  his 
wooing  of  Althea,  as  honest  and  as  ready  to  sacrifice  himself 
as  any  most  godly  Puritan  youth  would  have  been. 

So  Rafe,  in  conscience-stricken  haste,  dismissed  the  one 
injurious  suspicion  that  he  had  ever  had  of  Jock,  and  when 
they  met  next  afternoon,  in  the  dim  recesses  of  Inchcome's 
house,  greeted  him  as  a  friend.  He  was  eager  to  hear  Jock's 
adventures  of  the  last  month,  and  he  asked,  with  a  graver 
note  in  his  voice,  of  Jock's  wife.  In  Inchcome's  presence 
he  made  no  closer  queries,  but  that  evening  he  sought  Jock's 
inn,  and  to  the  accompaniment  of  much  tobacco,  had  long 
speech  alone  with  him. 

"  'Tis  pity  of  the  haste  in  which  Althea  was  wedded,"  Rafe 
said  frankly,  "and  pity  that  in  that  hour  she  should  hold 


294  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

herself  forsaken  of  all  her  kindred."  More  he  could  scarcely 
say,  for  he  bore  upon  his  conscience  the  double  load  that  he 
himself,  dallying  in  London,  prolonging  his  stay  because  he 
hated  the  thought  of  return  to  the  farm,  had  wilfully  been 
absent  when  he  might  have  saved  his  little  kinswoman,  and 
that,  a  heavier  burden  still,  it  was  his  own  wife's  hand  that, 
closing  the  door  of  Draycote  on  the  girl,  had  sent  her  headlong 
into  Jock's  arms. 

Of  his  own  blame  in  the  matter  Rafe  could  speak,  and  did, 
briefly  and  honestly.  Of  his  wife's  blame,  a  harder  part,  he 
must  needs  be  silent,  though  he  offered  what  reparation 
was  in  his  power:  "Since  you  are  bent  to  try  your  fortunes 
in  the  Low  Countries,  let  Althea  stay  at  Draycote  in  your 
absence.  It  is  my  wife's  prayer  also,"  he  added  pointedly, 
"and  she  will  herself  so  write  unto  Althea." 

Then,  having  said  all  that  he  could  say,  Rafe  talked  with 
Jock  till  midnight  of  that  other  subject,  so  near  to  their  hearts, 
the  chestnut-haired  Philip. 

"In  his  demure  way  my  cousin  was  a  zealous  frequenter 
of  gaming  houses,  and  of  other  houses."  Rafe  gave,  between 
puffs  of  his  pipe,  the  chief  points  of  the  information  that 
he  had  acquired  in  London.  "Also,  in  Silver  Street,  he  had 
borrowed  money  at  fifty  per  cent.  To  such  a  pass  had  he 
brought  his  fortunes  that  he  must  fall  heir  to  Graystones, 
and  speedily,  else  he  had  surely  lain  in  the  debtors'  jail. 
There's  been  false  dealing,  foul  dealing,  we  all  suspect,  but 
we  have  no  proof.  I  can  find  no  link  between  my  cousin 
PhiUp  and  your  good  cousin,  the  Captain.  When  I  got  word 
of  that  new  will,  so  opportunely  brought  forward,  of  a  truth 
I  thought  that  for  us  the  game  was  played  out."  He  smiled, 
with  the  sudden  flash  of  laughter  in  the  eyes  that  Jock  remem- 
bered. "That  was  how  you  came  by  your  ransom.  I  held 
that  we  had  no  further  use  for  you,  but  it  seems  that  I  was  in 
error." 


THE  LEAGUE  OF  THE  UNLIKELY  295 

"Then  you  hope  to  find  the  box  at  Graystones?"  Jock 
questioned. 

Rafe  shook  his  head.  "  I  know  not !  Yet  'tis  worth  put- 
ting to  the  proof.  'Tis  only  by  finding  that  lost  will  that  ever 
we  shall  oust  my  cousin  from  Graystones.  And  even  if  we 
recover  the  will,  we  shall  never  be  able  to  bring  home  to  him 
the  crime  that  we  all  suspect." 

"Perchance,"  Jock  commented,  "Philip  will  be  moved  in 
his  conscience  once  more  to  make  confession." 

Rafe  laughed.  "That's  a  youthful,  trusting  speech  that 
does  not  ring  right  in  your  mouth,  Yorkshire.  What  is  it 
you  are  hiding  from  me?" 

"Nothing,  it  may  be,"  Jock  replied,  and  left  the  matter 
thus.  In  detailing  his  adventures  to  Rafe,  he  had  been  silent 
as  to  what  had  passed  in  the  Graystones  cellar.  That  useful 
knowledge  he  would  share  with  no  man.  In  his  own  good 
time  he  might  employ  it,  but  with  terrible  patience  he  waited 
till  the  time  should  be  ripe. 

Next  afternoon,  in  a  cold,  fine  rain,  six  gentlemen  and  three 
stout  serving  fellows  —  for  Rafe,  Verney,  and  Inchcome  had 
each  with  him  a  trusty  man  —  rode  severally  from  Bury  St. 
Edmund's,  and  in  the  fields  outside  the  town  made  rendez- 
vous. Ill  assorted  as  the  company  was,  all,  from  the  astute 
Inchcome  to  the  scatter-headed  Tevery,  had  agreed  that  they 
must  not  risk  longer  delay,  but  set  at  once  about  the  search 
for  the  deal  box.  At  that  point  they  had  divided  in  their 
counsels.  Inchcome  would  have  gone  through  the  prescribed 
legal  forms  ere  he  entered  the  garden  at  Graystones,  while 
Jock,  true  to  his  military  training,  would  have  searched  first 
and  got  legal  empowerment  afterward. 

Rafe  had  given  the  casting  vote.  "If  we  stay  for  legal 
warrant,  Cousin  Philip  may  get  hint  of  warning  and  himself 
seek,  find,  and  destroy  the  box.  Moreover,  as  'tis  likely 
there  is  no  box  at  all,  we  may  well  be  riding  on  a  wild-goose 


296  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

chase,  and  in  such  case  my  good  kinsman  shall  not  know  of 
our  vain  search  and  mock  at  us  for  our  pains." 

To  this,  overborne,  perhaps,  by  the  lawlessness  of  his  five 
associates,  Inchcome  had  yielded,  so,  with  a  dark  lantern 
and  a  trowel  under  their  cloaks,  the  trespassers  set  forward 
through  the  rain  on  their  long  ride  to  Graystones.  Inchcome 
spoke  gloomily  of  the  unlikelihood  of  acquiring  aught  but 
rheumatics  by  the  night's  work,  Tevery  prayed  that  there 
might  be  some  scuffling,  Verney  whistled,  and  Framlingham 
cursed  the  rain,  while  Jock  and  Rafe,  each  upborne  by  a  differ- 
ent quality  of  hatred,  went  forward  silently,  like  a  brace 
of  ill-matched  beagles,  on  the  trail  of  the  chestnut-haired 
PhiUp. 

It  was  a  long  ride  to  Graystones,  and  a  heavy  ride,  now 
that  the  roads  ran  with  water.  As  they  had  planned,  it  was 
dark  when  the  adventurers  halted  in  the  lane  that  skirted  the 
lands  of  the  Heyrouns,  but,  not  as  they  had  planned,  the  time 
was  something  after  midnight.  They  led  the  horses  into  a 
neighboring  field,  and  after  much  struggling  and  some  loss  of 
temper,  got  the  lantern  lit.  A  last  stormy  whispered  confer- 
ence they  had,  to  the  tune  of  water  dripping  from  their  limp 
hat  brims,  in  which  the  five  other  gentlemen,  by  the  exertion 
of  their  joint  powers,  convinced  Tevery,  first,  that  they  were 
not  going  to  carry  the  house  by  a  direct  and  noisy  assay  of 
arms,  and  second,  that  only  two  of  their  number  were  going 
to  set  foot  in  the  garden. 

"I  told  you  there  was  no  reason  in  your  coming,"  Inch- 
come concluded.  "You'll  rest  here  with  me  in  this  sweet 
shower,  the  ging  of  you  —  and  you  will  not  rest  long  undis- 
covered, if  you  do  not  mask  that  lantern!"  he  addressed 
Framlingham,  with  sharp  exasperation.  "Meantime,  Mr. 
Hetherington,. since  he's  set  to  do  the  work,  and  Mr.  Heyroun, 
since  he  can  be  trusted  with  the  light,  may  disport  themselves 
in  the  garden,  and  a  merry  night  to  them!" 


THE  LEAGUE  OF  THE  UNLIKELY  297 

In  the  end  they  had  to  pacify  Tevery  by  letting  him  stand 
sentinel  in  the  lane,  and  then,  when  the  forces  were  at  last 
disposed,  Jock  and  Rafe,  with  the  lantern  and  the  trowel, 
went  about  their  work.  Stepping  quietly,  they  crossed  a  strip 
of  plashy  turf  and  reached  the  garden  wall.  By  good  fortune 
Rafe,  as  a  lad  his  uncle's  favorite,  had  learned  all  the  obscure 
corners  and  cat- tracks  of  Gray  stones,  and  so  was  able,  in 
spite  of  the  darkness,  to  find  a  spot  at  an  angle  of  the  wall 
where  the  rough  stones  and  a  little  tree  that  grew  adjacent 
made  it  easy  for  them  to  scramble  to  the  top.  Softly  as 
might  be,  they  dropped  to  ground  within  the  walled  enclosure 
of  the  garden,  and  through  the  sodden  tangle  of  frost-nipped 
flower  stalks  gained  the  wet  path  of  gravel,  and  in  silence 
approached  the  house  and  the  ancient  stone  seat  that  stood 
in  its  shadow. 

As  the  dead  man  had  said,  this  hiding-place,  if  it  were  the 
hiding-place  that  he  had  chosen  for  the  deal  box  before  he 
went  himself  to  chance  the  fortunes  of  war,  was  under  Philip's 
very  nose.  With  a  feeling  that  even  to  breathe  were  danger- 
ous, the  searchers  crouched  behind  the  seat,  and  by  a  single 
ray  of  the  lantern,  almost  muffled  under  Rafe's  cloak,  studied 
its  structure.  When  they  had  put  aside  the  growth  of  with- 
ered vines  and  plants  that  once  had  flowered  they  found  that 
the  back  of  the  seat  came  within  eighteen  inches  of  the  ground, 
and  into  the  mouldy  space  beneath  Jock  promptly  thrust  his 
head.  Lying  flat  on  his  back,  he  groped  his  hands  along  the 
bottom  and  sides  of  the  seat,  but  to  his  disappointment  he 
discovered  no  secret  hiding-place,  such  as  he  had  hoped  to  find. 

"We  must  e'en  dig  for  it  1"  he  whispered  ruefully. 

They  dug,  spelling  each  other,  for  what  seemed  endless 
hours.  So  narrow  was  the  space  that  but  one  man  at  a  time 
could  work,  while  the  other  masked  the  lantern,  all  but  the 
feeble  ray  that  they  allowed  themselves,  and  so  cramped  was 
the  position  in  which  the  worker  must  delve  that  again  and 


298  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

again  they  changed  parts.  At  first  they  labored  with  some 
whispered  encouragements,  jests,  even,  at  the  impatience  of 
their  comrades,  waiting  yonder  in  the  dark  and  the  rain,  but 
at  last  they  lapsed  into  grim  silence.  Each  was  too  stubborn 
to  be  the  first  to  admit  defeat,  yet  at  heart  each  felt  the 
weight  of  defeat  press  upon  him. 

The  rain  had  slackened,  and  a  chill  breath  of  morning  wind 
was  abroad,  when  both  heard  the  clatter  of  a  casement  flung 
open,  right  above  their  heads,  it  seemed.  They  crouched 
close,  muffling  the  lantern,  with  a  prompt  sense  of  the  igno- 
miny of  their  position,  were  they  caught  at  their  digging,  but 
they  heard  only  a  nervous  female  voice  cry,  "Who's  there? 
Is  any  one  stirring?" 

"My  Aunt  Difficult !"  breathed  Rafe,  and  Jock  nudged  him 
in  the  ribs  by  way  of  assent. 

They  rested  quiet  yet  a  time,  to  give  the  gentlewoman 
ample  leisure  to  return  to  her  bed,  and  then,  as  they  cau- 
tiously moved  to  resume  their  labor,  Rafe  let  slip  a  soft-spoken 
exclamation.  "Candle's  burnt  to  the  hilts,  Jock,  and  our 
light  is  quenched." 

"Let  it  be  quenched,  and  a  plague  go  with  it  I"  Jock  whis- 
pered.    "  I  need  no  light  to  find  that  box." 

"Nay,  come  away,  lad,"  Rafe  counselled,  rising  to  his 
knees.  "  'Twas  a  fool's  errand  at  best,  but  we  had  not  slept 
easy,  had  we  not  made  the  trial.    Come  away  now !" 

Said  Jock,  prone  on  his  stomach,  with  his  head  beneath  the 
seat,  "  Go,  an  you  will  —  but  I  feel  something  that's  hard 
unto  my  hand." 

"A  rock,  it  well  may  be,"  Rafe  answered,  resolute  not  to 
be  cheated  with  false  hope. 

Jock  wasted  no  strength  in  reply.  In  the  dark,  prone  on 
the  wet  ground,  he  grubbed  with  his  hands,  disdaining  the 
trowel,  while  Rafe,  in  tense  silence,  waited.  "Have  here 
your  rock,  sir,"  Jock  spoke  at  last  in  a  muflfled  voice. 


I 


THE   LEAGUE   OF  THE   UNLIKELY  299 

He  rolled  from  beneath  the  seat,  and  thrust  into  Rafe's 
hands,  that  groped  in  the  dark  to  receive  it,  a  little  rectan- 
gular object.  Clay  encrusted,  worn  though  it  was,  Rafe  could 
feel  the  iron-bound  corners  and  the  grain  of  the  wood  on  the 
top  and  sides,  and  though  he  scarce  dared  credit  his  senses, 
he  suspected  that  in  his  grasp  he  held  the  lost  deal  box. 

With  scant  precaution  they  crashed  their  way  back  through 
the  garden,  scrambled  over  the  wall,  almost  came  to  blows 
with  their  sentinel,  Tevery,  who  mistook  them  in  the  dark, 
and  at  last  rejoined  their  wet  and  bad-tempered  company  in 
the  field  beyond  the  lane. 

"Your  box?  Rare  and  pretty!"  said  Inchcome.  "And 
there's  a  paper  within  it,  I  find.  Now  when  daylight  comes, 
we'll  see  if  the  paper  contain  aught  that  will  compensate  us 
for  this  night's  folly." 

Wet  and  half  frozen  with  the  hours  that  he  had  spent  in 
the  fields,  Inchcome  was  bound  to  scoff,  but  when  at  last  the 
long-awaited  dawn  broke,  watery  and  chill,  he  did  not  scoff. 
In  the  dim  light  he  looked  once  upon  the  parchment  that  he 
took  from  the  box,  and  he  chuckled  in  grim  sort,  and  clicked 
to  the  cover.  "  Come,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  Graystones  stands 
near,  and  Mr.  Heyroun  has  as  good  a  right  as  any  of  the 
heirs  to  bid  his  friends  seek  shelter  beneath  that  roof,  and 
I  too  as  chief  executor  under  this  will,  do  bid  you  thither." 

Leading  the  horses,  the  nine  dripping  figures  trailed  along 
the  lane  toward  the  gatehouse.  Once  and  again  as  they 
went,  Inchcome  chuckled,  and  Tevery  and  Framlingham 
grew  boisterous,  so  that  when  they  reached  the  gatehouse, 
they  summoned  the  porter  with  a  series  of  halloos  and  a  thun- 
dering of  sword  hilts  on  the  door  that  roused  the  household. 
Half  because  he  trusted  Inchcome,  half  because  he  feared 
Inchcome's  companions,  the  shaking  porter  opened  to  them, 
and  for  the  same  good  reasons  a  serving  fellow  flung  the  great 
house  door  wide  at  their  approach  and  fled  before  them. 


300  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRATSTONES 

Straight  forward  they  went,  into  the  cold  and  dimly  lighted 
hall,  and  there  they  found  the  family  astir.  The  chestnut- 
haired  Philip  came  down  the  stairway  with  his  doublet  un- 
fastened and  his  sheathed  sword  beneath  his  arm,  and  in  the 
dusky  gallery  beyond  was  Mistress  Difficult,  and  thrust  a  little 
before  her,  very  lovely  in  the  slight  disorder  of  her  hastily 
donned  garments  and  unbound  hair,  stood  Blanche  Mallory. 

"What  brings  you  hither?  What  is  it  that  you  seek?" 
asked  Philip,  in  a  stout  voice. 

"  Only  the  chance  to  wash  our  hands,  good  cousin,"  drawled 
Rafe.     "  We  have  been  digging  in  the  garden." 

"  In  my  garden  ?  "  cried  Philip,  with  the  snap  of  an  affrighted 
dog. 

"No,"  said  Inchcome,  as  he  sat  himself  at  the  table,  "in 
the  garden  of  Graystones.  And  in  our  digging  we  chanced  on 
this  that  I  now  hold,  that  haply  you  may  have  seen  before." 

Deliberately  Inchcome  set  on  the  table  in  front  of  him  the 
clay-encrusted  box.  At  that  sight  Philip  gripped  the  balus- 
trade with  a  tense  hand,  and  stood  blinking,  but  before  he 
found  words  to  reply,  Jock  stepped  forward  and  halted,  with 
his  foot  on  the  lowermost  stair. 

"I  lent  a  hand  at  the  digging,"  Jock  said,  as  he  met 
Philip's  eyes.  "In  truth,  I  showed  them  where  to  dig.  I 
told  you,  kinsman  by  marriage,  I  told  you  on  my  wedding- 
day,  remember,  that  I  should  come  again  to  Graystones." 

Jock  would  gladly  have  taken  longer  time  to  study  Philip's 
face,  but  at  that  moment  Framlingharo,  caught  him  by  the 
shoulder.  "Jock,"  he  whispered,  and  drew  him  from  the 
stair,  "  who's  the  girl,  yonder  in  the  gallery  ?  Faith  of  man  I 
'tis  a  tempting  wench  I" 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  HUMORS   OF   THE  DECEASED  HEYROUN 

It  was  Inchcome,  chief  executor  under  each  and  every  one 
of  PhiUp  Heyroun's  wills,  that  took  into  his  hands  the  order- 
ing of  matters  in  this  altered  posture  of  affairs.  At  his  in- 
stance messengers  were  sent  posting  to  summon  all  the  heirs 
of  the  late  Philip  Heyroun,  —  Martin  Heyroun  from  his  house 
in  Essex,  Lieutenant  Phil  from  camp  at  Hertford,  Parson 
Jarvis  from  Cambridge,  Althea  from  Claybourne.  Until  their 
coming,  Inchcome  made  himself  at  home  beneath  the  roof  of 
Graystones,  and  so  did  Rafe,  and,  at  Rafe's  invitation,  did 
Jock  and  his  three  friends,  who,  having  nothing  more  impor- 
tant to  busy  them,  were  set  to  see  the  matter  to  a  conclusion. 

Between  the  chestnut-haired  Philip  and  the  invaders  there 
was  armed  neutrality,  seasoned  with  suspicion.  Inchcome 
kept  the  little  deal  box  and  the  will  that  it  contained  within 
hand's  reach,  and  at  night  his  man  lay  on  the  truckle-bed 
across  the  door  of  his  chamber,  while  Philip,  for  his  part, 
eyed  Jock  askance  and  kept  at  a  safe  distance. 

Jock  had  no  thought  to  trouble  Philip  yet.  To  pick  a 
quarrel  prematurely  might  well  mean  for  him  expulsion  from 
Graystones,  and  he  wished  to  stay  there,  since  Althea  was 
coming.  Once  already  he  had  taken  leave  of  her,  in  the  ex- 
pectation of  setting  out  from  Graystones  for  the  Low  Coun- 
tries, but  he  seized  thankfully  on  the  opportunity  thus  given 
him  of  seeing  her  yet  again. 

301 


302  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

By  times,  too,  Jock  indulged  himself  in  a  foolish  hope  that 
somehow  he  might  perhaps  be  benefited  by  this  new  will. 
Though  he  knew  in  his  practical  mind  that  he  was  leaving 
England,  he  had  an  illogical,  yet  persistent  feeling  that  he  was, 
in  reality,  going  to  stay.  How  that  should  come  to  pass,  he 
could  not  guess,  unless  the  solution  lay  in  the  little  deal  box 
that  so  strangely  had  tangled  itself  in  with  his  fortunes.  Per- 
haps, he  pleased  himself  with  fancying,  the  dead  PhiUp 
Heyroun  might  have  spared  of  his  abundance  some  crumb  for 
Althea,  fifty  pounds,  say,  or  even  as  much  as  a  hundred. 

With  such  store  in  hand,  he  planned  what  he  might  do,  and 
broke  off  with  a  shamed  realization  that  in  fancy  he  dis- 
pended  the  money,  not  merely  of  his  wife,  but  of  the  girl  that 
was  forced  to  be  his  wife.  To  him  personally,  he  resolved, 
the  money,  should  it  come,  could  make  no  difference,  but  for 
the  sake  of  the  girl,  that  she  might  not  be  left  entirely  penni- 
less and  dependent  in  his  absence,  he  waited  hopefully  for  the 
reading  of  the  will. 

While  Jock  waited,  he  watched  with  quiet  amusement 
the  varied  dramas  that  were  being  played  round  him  — 
the  passages-at-arms,  spicing  each  meal,  between  Mistress 
Difficult  and  Esdras  Inchcome,  the  tingling  hostile  encounters 
of  Rafe  and  Philip,  the  lively  manoeuvres  of  Mistress  Mallory. 
Thanks,  no  doubt,  to  the  intimate  knowledge  of  affairs  at 
Graystones,  that,  as  the  old  ally  of  the  chestnut-haired 
Philip,  she  had  gained,  Blanche  had  estabUshed  herself 
beneath  Philip's  roof.  As  one  of  the  household  she  came 
and  went  among  Philip's  unbidden  guests,  and  soon  she  was 
deep  in  kindly  intercourse  with  Jock's  Cavalier  friends.  She 
was  fair  to  look  upon,  nimble  of  tongue,  delicately  free  in 
her  bearing,  with  a  touch  of  audaciousness  that  was  new, 
and  the  men,  for  their  part,  were  in  their  varying  degrees 
well-favored  rascals,  ready-tongued,  and,  naturally,  since 
they  viewed  affairs  at  Graystones  in  the  light  of  a  comedy, 


THE   HUMOKS  OF  THE  DECEASED  HEYROUN         303 

in  high  good  spirits.  Inevitably  a  handsome  girl  in  search 
of  wooers  and  three  idle  men  in  quest  of  amusement  were 
often  together.  It  was  none  of  Jock's  business.  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  in  silence  looked  on. 

The  second  day  after  the  discovery  of  the  deal  box  Martin 
Heyroun  and  the  dainty  little  gentlewoman,  his  wife,  arrived 
at  Graystones  to  play  their  part  in  the  game.  "  In  the  devil's 
name,  what  do  you  here?"  roared  old  Martin,  by  way  of 
greeting  to  Jock,  and  thereafter  ignored  his  existence,  while 
Mistress  Henrietta,  mindful  of  the  falsehood  that  she  was 
proved  to  have  uttered  in  regard  to  him,  was  plaintively 
resentful  whenever  he  came  into  her  presence. 

Next  day  came  Lieutenant  Phil,  and  joined  with  his  deep- 
mouthed  sire  in  making  the  house  reecho  with  the  praises 
of  dead  Uncle  Philip,  who  had  done  them  all  right  at  last. 
Loose  tongued  and  rattle  headed  in  his  exultation,  the  Lieu- 
tenant was  decently  civil  to  Jock's  conu-ades,  friendly  even 
with  Jock  himself,  and  by  this  friendliness  Jock  profited  to 
draw  him  aside  to  the  kennels,  whither  it  needed  little  impor- 
tunity to  draw  him,  and  there  to  question  him  of  Captain 
Wogan.    Was  he  still  at  Hertford,  perchance? 

Phil  shook  his  head.  "Lambert  is  in  London.  Say  no 
word  to  Rafe,  a'  mercy's  name,  else  'twill  reach  Rafe's  wife, 
and  all  Lambert's  kinswomen  will  be  about  his  ears  again, 
but  Lambert  has  fair  hope  to  exchange  into  Ireton's  regi- 
ment that  is  ordered  into  Ireland." 

Jock  thought  on  the  grip  of  Wogan's  hand,  twice  laid  to 
his  throat,  of  the  cold  and  pain  that  he  had  endured  in 
the  cellar,  of  insults  that  still  rankled  in  his  memory.  On 
the  whole,  he  would  have  liked  a  settlement  with  Wogan,  — 
an  honest  settlement  without  advantage  to  either,  where 
they  could  have  stood  up,  face  to  face  and  sword  in  hand. 
From  his  heart  he  said,  "I  am  sorry  for  his  going." 

"  Ay,"  said  Phil,  "  'tis  rough  service  yonder  in  Ireland,  and 


304  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Lambert  has  come  by  a  staggering  buffet,  else  had  he  never 
sought  thus  to  be  swallowed  quick.  But  'tis  generous  of 
you,  Hetherington,  to  sorrow  for  him." 

Said  Jock,  "  I  doubt  if  I  do,  in  the  sense  that  you  are  pleased 
to  take  it." 

He  left  Lieutenant  Phil,  still  busied  with  the  dogs,  and  went 
for  a  walk  to  Heronswood  and  back.  Much  alone  in  those 
days,  while  Rafe  foregathered  with  his  kindred  and  his  Cava- 
lier friends  dallied  with  Blanche  Mallory,  in  whose  company 
he  would  not  be  seen,  he  had  acquired  a  habit  of  solitary, 
yet  not  unpleasant,  brooding.  At  most  times  he  thought  of 
Althea  and  what  the  future  might  bring  to  her  and  to  him, 
but  this  afternoon  he  thought  upon  Wogan,  so  vital  a  factor 
in  his  existence  these  last  weeks,  and  now  removed,  it  might 
well  be  forever,  from  his  life. 

With  the  hazards  of  his  Graystones  captivity  clearer 
in  memory,  perhaps,  than  ever  before,  Jock  was  returning 
to  the  house,  under  the  chill  yellow  of  the  sunset  sky,  when 
behind  a  clump  of  bare  willows  that  edged  the  roadway  he 
caught  the  flutter  of  a  petticoat.  A  single  glance  he  took, 
but,  quick  of  sight  as  he  was,  he  found  one  glance  suffi- 
cient. He  had  recognized  his  friend  Will  Framlingham  and 
Mistress  Mallory,  and  they  were  close  in  speech  behind  the 
willows. 

Jock  walked  on  toward  Graystones  through  the  windy 
twilight,  slowly,  for  his  thought  was  troubled.  With  the 
past  events  at  Graystones  fresh  in  mind,  he  felt  a  sort  of 
pity,  the  winner's  pity,  for  Blanche  Mallory.  If  he  had  known 
all  the  history  of  Blanche's  dealings  with  Althea,  he  might 
have  had  a  different  feeling,  but  at  the  moment,  in  ignorance 
of  the  worst  of  her,  he  remembered  that  the  girl  had  been  in 
genuine  anguish  on  the  day  that  should  have  been  her  marriage 
day  and  proved  instead  the  day  of  her  shaming,  and  he  remem- 
bered too  that  the  girl  had  loved,  and,  he  made  no  doubt, 


i 


THE   HUMOKS  OF  THE  DECEASED   HEYROUN         305 

for  a  little  time  had  been  beloved  by  his  cousin  —  and  with 
that  dead  cousin  he  was  no  longer  at  war. 

Jock  had  reached  that  point  in  his  musing,  when  he  heard 
a  quick  step  on  the  frozen  ground  behind  him.  Next  moment 
Will  Framlingham,  with  his  hat  cocked  and  his  eyes  a-dance, 
had  gained  his  side. 

"You  are  for  Graystones,  Jock?"  Will  asked,  in  a  voice 
that  was  crisp  and  assured  on  the  sharp  air. 

"I  must  trace  back  my  steps  for  something  that  I  seek  to 
find,"  said  Jock,  and  waited,  feigning  to  scan  the  turf  by  the 
wayside,  till  Will  had  passed  out  of  sight  round  the  next  turn 
of  the  lane. 

In  three  men,  Jock  knew,  there  was  safety;  in  one  man 
there  was  danger,  especially  when  the  man  would  not  be  seen 
alone  with  the  girl.  Yielding  to  an  impulse  of  which  he  was 
half  ashamed,  he  loitered  back  along  the  path  that  he  had 
come,  past  wayside  tangles  of  bare  blackberry  bushes,  under 
the  branches  of  leafless  beech  trees,  until,  at  a  point  where  the 
hedge  dwindled  and  the  lane  ran  close  to  a  pit  of  steel-cold 
water,  edged  with  naked  trees,  he  saw  Blanche  Mallory 
coming  toward  him. 

She  came  slowly,  bending  head  and  body  to  the  wind,  and 
her  dark  hair,  loosened,  was  blown  across  her  face,  and  the 
vivid  orange  lining  of  her  cloak  showed  in  the  tossing  of  the 
gusts.  So  intent  was  she  on  holding  her  cloak  about  her 
and  keeping  her  blown  hair  from  her  eyes  that  she  took  no 
note  of  Jock  till  he  stepped  forward,  hat  in  hand,  and  barred 
her  path.  It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  made  to  speak 
to  her  since  the  words  he  had  uttered  in  the  east  gallery, 
weeks  before. 

"What!"  said  Blanche,  and  her  bitter  surprise  was  not 
all  feigned.  "Will  you  demean  yourself  at  last  so  low  as  to 
accost  me,  Mr.  Hetherington  ?  " 

The  taunting  quaUty  in  her  voice  stxmg  him  to  repentance 


306  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

for  his  foolish  thought  to  interfere  in  her  affairs,  yet  having 
begun,  he  doggedly  kept  on.  "Ay,"  said  he,  bluntly,  "I 
accost  you  —  since  my  friend  Will  has  aheady  done  the  like." 

"Wherein  may  that  concern  you?"  Blanche  asked,  and 
made  as  if  to  pass  him. 

He  still  barred  her  path,  and  angered  at  the  tone  that  she 
took,  he  wasted  no  time  in  seeking  for  gentle  words  in  which 
to  say  what  he  had  set  out  to  say.  After  all,  he  considered 
that  the  girl  who  had  sought  him  in  the  roof  room  and  tricked 
him  in  the  east  gallery  had  no  call  to  make  dainty  at  mere 
words.  "  It  does  not  concern  me,"  he  said,  "  even  as  you  have 
reminded  me.  Only,  take  a  word  of  good  counsel,  mistress. 
Don't  sport  too  long  with  those  brisk  gentlemen,  my  friends, 
else  you  may  come  by  burnt  fingers." 

She  drew  herself  to  her  full  height.  "Thou  art  a  knave 
thus  to  bespeak  me ! "  she  said  in  a  voice  that  rang  tense  with 
scorn. 

He  smiled,  with  the  shrewd  smile  that  she  feared  and  hated. 
"Is  that  not  somewhat  stale,  between  us?"  he  said.  "Be 
honest,  mistress.  'Tis  an  honest  warning  I  have  given  you. 
Take  it  or  leave  it !" 

He  stood  aside,  and,  proud  of  carriage  as  ever,  she  swept 
past  him  and  went  her  way.  Several  times  thereafter  he 
saw  her,  but  he  always  remembered  this  moment  as  truly 
his  last  sight  of  her.  He  remembered  her,  a  lonely  figure, 
bending  to  the  wind,  with  the  cloak  that  showed  the  flash 
of  orange  whipping  round  her,  and  he  remembered  the  back- 
ground against  which  she  moved, —  the  haggard  pool  by  the 
wayside  that  caught  a  soiled  reflection  of  the  sky  and  the 
naked  branches  of  the  trees  that  wavered  against  the  pallid 
yellow  of  the  west. 

At  noon  of  the  next  day  Parson  Jarvis  drew  rein  at  Gray- 
stones  and  presented  himself  at  the  dinner  table. 

"Come,  Inchcome  I"  cried  Martin  Heyroun,  in  full  assembly. 


THE  HUMORS  OF  THE  DECEASED  HEYROUN    307 

"Here  we  be  all  gathered  together.  Now  let  us  hear  your 
will." 

"My  good  sir,"  said  Inchcome,  "we  have  still  to  wait  for 
Mistress  Lovewell." 

Jock  looked  up  from  his  trencher.  "For  Mistress  Hether- 
ington,"  he  amended  with  slow  distinctness. 

By  whatever  name  they  chose  to  call  the  girl,  it  was  patent 
that,  while  Inchcome  held  the  reins,  her  kinsfolk  must  wait 
until  her  coming  for  the  reading  of  the  will.  They  waited, 
perforce,  and  grumbled,  the  women  most  loudly.  What  was 
this  girl,  forsooth,  this  little  pauper  wench,  no  whit  better 
than  she  should  be,  that  for  a  mere  legal  formality  affairs 
should  stay  for  her?  Luckily  the  waiting  was  not  long. 
Early  that  same  evening,  crisp  and  far  sounding  on  the 
frosty  air,  there  was  a  clatter  of  hoofs  in  the  lane,  audible 
even  in  the  hall  at  Graystones.  "  Tis  that  vagrom  wench  at 
last,  it  may  be,"  snorted  Martin  Heyroun,  and  Mistress  Diffi- 
cult, in  agreement  with  him  for  once,  sniffed,  "And  sure, 
'tis  high  time!" 

At  that  moment  Jock  was  playing  a  hand  at  primero  with 
Verney,  in  the  little  ante-chamber  next  the  hall,  but  straight- 
way he  caught  the  sound  for  which  all  day  he  had  listened. 
Like  a  shot  he  was  off  to  the  stable-court,  running  bare- 
headed through  the  tingling  sharp  darkness,  and  he  came 
thither  just  as  Althea  and  the  attendant  serving  man,  sent 
to  fetch  her,  drew  rein. 

Jock  lifted  her  from  the  saddle.  Under  the  light  of  the 
dim  lanterns  which  the  grooms  fetched  he  saw  her  face,  rosy 
with  the  stinging  air  and  the  brisk  riding,  and  her  eyes,  bright 
and  eager,  beneath  her  hood.  Perchance  it  was  his  imagina- 
tion, but  he  thought  that  her  face  brightened  at  sight  of  him, 
and  that,  for  a  moment  longer  than  necessary,  she  remained 
standing  just  as  she  had  leaped  from  the  horse,  with  her  two 
hands  resting  upon  his  shoulders. 


308  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYST0NE8 

"And  are  you  glad  in  truth  to  see  me,  Jock?"  she  asked. 

He  would  so  fain  have  believed  that  she  asked  the  question 
tenderly  that  he  dared  not  let  himself  believe.  To  be  sure, 
he  steadied  his  wavering  resolution,  the  girl,  like  a  true  gentle- 
woman and  a  proud  soul,  would  greet  him  there  before  the 
grooms  as  a  wife  should  greet  her  husband.  She  would  not 
have  them  gossip  and  whisper  that  she  was  married  against 
her  will  to  a  man  she  did  not  love. 

Taking  his  cue,  Jock  tried  to  play  a  part  to  answer  hers, 
and  overplayed.  "How  else  than  glad,  dear  heart,"  he 
replied,  "  to  see  you  again  and  to  see  you  well  ?  " 

She  let  her  hands  drop  to  her  sides.  Her  hands  were  gloved, 
he  noted,  and  over  her  ashen  gown  that  shaded  to  rose  she 
wore  a  riding  cloak  of  gray  that  was  lined  with  rosy  silk. 
Looking  on  her,  in  her  dainty  trimness,  he  grew  conscious 
of  his  own  shabby  doublet  —  the  doublet  that  had  been 
Lieutenant  Phil's.  In  her  eyes,  he  reflected,  he  must  look 
little  better  than  the  stableboys  about  them. 

She  caught  his  mood  of  disappointment  and  of  trouble, 
without  fathoming  what  lay  behind  it.  With  something  of 
the  sparkle  gone  from  her  face,  she  walked  beside  him  to  the 
house  in  a  silence  that  matched  his  own. 

In  the  hall  Rafe  greeted  the  girl  with  kindness,  Inchcome 
with  civility.  The  two  women,  her  aunts,  stood  aloof,  and 
Martin  Heyroun,  frankly  ignoring  her,  cried  at  once  for  the 
reading  of  the  will.  "And  there  is  no  need  that  any  but  the 
heirs  be  present,"  he  added  pointedly. 

Verney  Claybourne  laughed,  took  the  hint,  and  lounged 
away  to  seek  Framlingham  and  Tevery.  Blanche  Mallory 
long  since  had  left  the  hall.  "The  door  is  still  open!"  said 
Martin  Heyroun,  speaking  at  Jock. 

"  I  stand  here  to  look  to  my  wife's  rights,"  Jock  answered 
with  emphasis,  glad  of  a  channel  into  which  he  might  direct 
his  mood  of  discontent. 


THE  HUMORS  OF  THE  DECEASED  HEYROUN         309 

Inchcome  made  an  end  of  what  might  have  been  a  sharp 
dispute  by  praying  all  be  seated.  He  himself  took  his  place 
at  the  great  table  with  a  candle  at  his  elbow,  in  just  such  pos- 
ture as  Jock  remembered  to  have  seen  him  on  the  night  of 
his  first  coming  to  Graystones,  and  the  heirs  of  the  deceased 
Heyroun  sat,  so  to  speak,  in  two  camps  round  Inchcome  — 
the  chestnut-haired  Philip,  Parson  Jarvis,  and  Mistress  Dif- 
ficult at  one  end  of  the  table,  Martin  Heyroun,  Mistress  Hen- 
rietta, and  Lieutenant  Phil  at  the  other.  With  a  feeling  that 
he  and  Althea  were  shut  out  from  either  camp,  Jock  led  her 
to  a  seat  on  the  bench  near  the  door,  a  little  withdrawn  from 
the  others.  He  remembered  it  always,  that  Rafe,  as  on  a 
sudden  impulse,  came  across  the  room  and  sat  down  on  a 
stool  hard  by  and  gave  Althea  a  word  or  two  of  news  about 
the  children  at  Dray  cote. 

Indeed,  the  girl  needed  comfort  at  that  moment.  Jock,  a 
fighting  man  by  nature  and  with  a  sword  now  at  his  side,  could 
go  and  come  in  that  hall,  with  no  recollection  of  the  humilia- 
tions he  had  undergone  in  that  spot,  save  with  the  hearten- 
ing resolve  to  score  them  out  on  those  that  had  made  him 
suffer.  With  the  girl  it  fared  differently.  Sitting  there, 
apart  and  outcast  from  her  kin,  she  recalled  with  aching  heart 
the  bitter  shame  of  the  marriage  forced  upon  her  in  that  place, 
under  the  eyes  of  the  jeering  servants.  She  paid  small  heed 
to  Rafe's  kindly  meant  discourse,  and  the  moment  that  he 
fell  silent,  she  sought  Jock's  hand  with  hers  and  whispered: 
"Must  we  stay  here?  I  would  so  much  liefer  be  gone,  even 
as  they  wish." 

Jock  gave  her  hand  an  encouraging  pressure.  "Be  sure 
we'll  stay !"  he  answered  beneath  his  breath.  "I'd  not  miss 
this  for  a  thousand  pound.     Look  but  on  Phihp  yonder." 

Althea  had  no  wish  to  look  at  the  circle  of  faces  in  the 
candlelight  at  the  table,  but  Jock,  with  steady  eyes  of  hatred, 
watched  Philip.    Grimly  fighting,  Uke  a  rat  in  a  corner,  the 


310  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

chestnut-haired  Philip  had  taken  the  only  course  that  was 
open  to  him.  Throughout  the  days  of  suspense  he  had  de- 
clared himself  rejoiced  that  his  uncle's  will  had  been  recovered, 
and  loudly  professed  himself  confident  that  in  essentials 
the  last  two  wills  were  alike.  But  his  face,  while  he  waited 
for  the  reading,  gave  the  lie  to  his  words.  The  hue  of  his  skin 
made  Jock  think  of  soiled  putty,  his  eyes  bUnked  fast,  and  his 
set  mouth  showed  a  thin  and  lipless  line. 

By  now  Inchcome,  reading  in  a  methodical  and  deliberate 
voice,  had  finished  the  preamble,  to  which  no  one  had  given 
much  heed.  Following  that,  came  some  minor  bequests  to 
servants  and  dependents,  just  and  sensible,  it  seemed.  Martin 
Heyroun  snorted  audibly  at  this  long  delay,  and  Lieutenant 
Phil  shifted  his  feet.  "Get  to  the  matter  in  hand  !"  he  mut- 
tered half  aloud.  Inchcome  rewarded  the  discourtesy  by 
pausing  long  enough  to  snuff  the  candle,  and  then,  in  the 
heightened  light  that  showed  the  pallid  and  malign  smile 
upon  his  lips,  he  began  the  main  portion  of  the  will.  Jock, 
listening,  felt  a  kind  of  liking  for  the  deceased  Philip  Hey- 
roun, and  a  kind  of  pity,  as  he  read  between  the  lines  what 
must  have  been  his  life  among  his  assiduous  kinsfolk. 

"'To  my  wife's  niece,  Blanche  Mallory,'"  read  Inchcome: 
"'Forty  shillings,  which  I  counsel  her  to  dispend  in  folly, 
knowing  full  well  that  she  will  so  dispend  it  without  coimsel 
of  mine. 

'"To  my  nephew  Jarvis:  Ten  marks,  wherewith,  since  he 
is  set  upon  a  profession  which  at  heart,  whatever  I  may 
have  said,  I  do  loath,  let  him  buy  him  a  gown  and  bands 
and  a  seemly  wig. 

"'To  my  dear  sister  Difficult:—'" 

The  gentlewoman  named  sought  for  her  handkerchief. 
"My  poor  brother!"  she  sighed.  "I  sincerely  believe  he  is 
in  a  happier  place." 

'"To  my  dear  sister  Difficult,'"   Inchcome  went  on:   "'A 


THE  HUMORS  OF  THE  DECEASED  HEYROUN    311 

mourning  ring  of  the  value  of  five  shillings,  since  she  is  a  pious 
despiser  of  worldly  gear,  and  I  pray  her  not  to  grieve  too 
deeply  for  me.'" 

In  the  malicious  pause  which  Inchcome  made,  Mistress 
Difficult  put  up  her  handkerchief.  "  A  despiser  and  a  scoffer 
at  holiness !"  she  said  aloud.  "I  hope  that  he  is  in  a  better 
place."     Her  look  belied  her  words. 

"'To  my  brother  Martin,'"  Inchcome's  level  voice  went 
on:  "'My  ship  the  Warwick  which,  by  his  folly  and  loss  of 
temper,  he  suffered  be  sunk  in  the  strait  of  Dover  in  the 
year  '46.'" 

For  once  Martin  Heyroun  was  overcome.  With  dropping 
jaw  he  sat  dumb,  and  the  other  heirs,  in  like  appalled  silence, 
awaited  what  blow  they  in  their  turn  might  be  dealt  by  that 
merciless  document. 

"'To  my  good  sister  Henrietta,'"  Inchcome  resumed  with 
relish :  " '  All  the  marcasite  and  jet  pins  of  which  my  deceased 
wife  died  possessed. 

" '  To  my  nephew  Philip,  son  to  the  said  Martin  and  Hen- 
rietta :  The  Barbary  horse  from  my  stable,  on  which  I  make 
no  doubt  he  will  ride  to  the  devil. 

"'To  my  nephew  Philip,  son  to  my  deceased  brother  Ben- 
jamin: The  hundred  crowns  which,  on  the  night  of  May  the 
seventeenth,  he  took  from  my  strong  box,  thinking  me  to  be 
sleeping.     I  do  not  always  sleep  when  my  eyes  are  shut.'" 

In  the  silence,  while  all  eyes  sought  him,  the  chestnut- 
haired  Philip  sat  rigid,  blinking,  and  save  for  that  motion  of 
the  eyelids,  with  the  face  of  a  dead  man. 

"'And  the  rest  of  my  property,'"  read  Inchcome,  in  a  loud 
voice,  " '  my  houses,  my  farms,  my  lands,  my  ships,  my  rents, 
and  tenements,  and  all  moneys  whereof  I  die  possessed,  I 
give  in  two  equal  shares  to  those  two  of  Heyroun  blood  who 
have  shown  the  spirit  of  Heyrouns  in  that  they  have  dared 
set  their  wills  in  opposition  to  mine  and  for  all  my  wealth 


312  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

have  never  cringed  unto  me  — to  my  nephew,  Ralph  Heyroun 
of  Draycote,  and  to  Althea  Lovewell,  the  child  of  my  dear 
sister  Mary,  deceased,  with  the  provision  that  Ralph  shall 
have  the  ancient  manor  house  at  Heronswood,  and  that 
Althea  shall  have  my  house  of  Graystones,  and  that  the  said 
Ralph  and  my  good  friend  Esdras  Inchcome  shall  watch 
over  and  safeguard  the  interests  of  the  said  Althea  imtil 
such  time  as  she  takes  her  a  husband.' " 

Inchcome  laid  down  the  paper,  and  for  a  moment,  as  if  a 
thunderbolt  had  fallen,  there  was  blank  and  stricken  silence 
in  the  hall.  Then,  with  a  little  scuffling  of  feet  and  rustling 
of  garments,  all  turned  instinctively  to  the  obscure  corner 
where  until  that  moment  Althea  had  sat  forgotten.  Under 
their  eyes  the  girl  started  to  her  feet,  white-faced,  with  her 
arms,  in  her  old  gesture  of  affright,  crossed  upon  her  breast. 

"But,  Mr.  Inchcome!  Is  that  true?"  she  cried.  "I  am 
become  a  rich  woman?" 

Said  Inchcome:  "You  are  possessed  this  hour,  mistress, 
of  the  house  in  which  we  sit,  of  three  farms,  of  divers  ships 
at  sea,  and  of  revenues  that  will  mount  to  near  five  thousand 
pounds  the  year.  You  are  one  of  the  richest  heiresses  in  the 
shire,  and  thanks  to  you,"  he  turned  suddenly  on  Mistress 
Difficult,  "the  heiress  is  already  fitted  with  a  husband." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  LIVING  HETHERINGTON 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  before  the  company  in  the  hall 
disbanded,  and  during  that  time  much  was  spoken  that  had 
far  better  been  left  unsaid.  Though  the  chestnut-haired 
Philip,  bowing  to  defeat,  had  for  the  most  part  kept  silent, 
his  brother  had  raged,  and  his  mother,  in  the  end,  had  wept, 
while  Martin  Heyroun,  loudest  of  them  all,  had  insisted  that 
the  will  by  which  Althea  was  enriched  at  the  expense  of  her 
kindred  should  instantly  be  set  aside. 

Inchcome  turned  at  last  upon  old  Martin.  "Do  you  bear 
in  mind,"  he  counselled,  "  that,  should  you  succeed  in  setting 
aside  this  latest  will  to  spite  your  niece,  you  will  deprive 
your  son  Rafe  of  his  heritage." 

At  that  hint  Martin  Heyroun  sat  in  fuming  silence,  but  his 
wife  still  cried  out  upon  the  injustice  of  what  had  been  done, 
till  Althea  could  bear  no  more.  "I  never  sought  nor  asked 
for  the  wretched  money!"  she  cried  piteously.  "I  do  not 
wish  it.     I  pray  you,  good  Mr.  Inchcome,  take  it  back." 

There  Rafe  spoke,  and  with  the  burden  on  his  conscience 
of  the  wrong  that  Althea  had  suffered  at  his  wife's  hands, 
he  spoke  in  the  girl's  behalf,  and  because  he  spoke  now  as 
Heyroun  of  Heronswood,  he  won  the  readier  attention,  "I 
pray  you,  peace,  all !"  he  said.  "'Tis  a  lawful  will  and  shall 
stand,  and  Althea,  whom  my  uncle  chose  his  heir,  shall  enjoy 
all  of  which  by  its  terms  she  is  possessed,  ay,  and  this  very 

813 


314  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

hour  shall  enter  on  possession.  Inchcome  and  I  will  look  well 
to  her  interests." 

"Be  sure!"  said  Inchcome.  "Such  was  the  wish  of  the 
deceased  Philip  Heyroun." 

Through  all  the  controversy  Jock  had  sat  silent.  At  first, 
in  the  suddenness  of  the  good  fortune  that  had  befallen  him, 
he  had  been  too  bewildered  to  risk  speech,  and  then,  as  he 
grasped  matters  more  firmly,  he  had  seen  no  call  for  wasting 
words.  Let  the  Heyrouns  talk  all  that  they  would,  pouring 
forth  unchecked  their  disappointment  and  their  jealousy. 
When  he  saw  the  time  fit  he  would  repeat  what  he  had  said 
once  before,  that  he  stood  for  Althea's  rights  against  them 
all  and  that,  with  Verney  Claybourne  and  his  kindred  to  aid 
him,  with  the  allies  that  the  prospect  of  an  ample  fortune 
would  bring  him,  he  made  no  doubt  but  that  he  could  enforce 
those  rights. 

But  when  Rafe  had  spoken,  saying  the  word  that  Jock  had 
had  it  in  mind  to  say,  Jock  maintained  his  silence  in  a  different 
temper.  Slowly  he  felt  grow  upon  him  the  sense  of  his  aloof- 
ness from  the  scene  on  which  he  gazed.  Only  by  right  of 
his  wife,  by  right  of  the  girl,  forced,  unwilling,  to  bear  his 
name,  did  he  sit  there.  The  sole  justification  of  his  presence 
would  have  been  her  need  of  him  to  champion  her  cause,  and 
that  duty  Rafe  Heyroun,  whom  he  trusted,  and  Esdras  Inch- 
come could  discharge  far  better  than  could  he.  Later  when 
he  had  time  for  thought,  he  saw  a  reckoning  with  himself  in 
prospect.     For  now  he  waited  in  a  silence  that  was  half  sullen. 

The  moment  came  at  last  when,  because  there  was  no  more 
to  say,  the  company  broke  up.  Rafe,  ordering  matters, 
called  in  the  steward.  "  See  that  the  great  chamber  is  made 
ready,"  he  bade,  "  for  Mistress  —  Hetherington.  Henceforth 
she  is  mistress  here." 

Rawly  sensitive,  Jock  took  note  that  even  Rafe  hesitated 
at  Althea's  new  name.    Mindful  at  that  moment  only  of  the 


THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  LIVING  HETHERINGTON       315 

hurt  of  that  sHght  from  Rafe,  he  stood  quiet,  and  in  that  mo- 
ment Mistress  Henrietta  had  sought  Althea's  side.  He  saw 
through  the  pitifully  open  purpose  of  the  little  woman,  who 
would  make  her  peace  at  once  with  the  heiress,  and  so  petty 
and  so  sorry  did  it  seem,  that  he  would  not  seek  to  combat 
it  by  thrusting  himself  forward.  If  Althea  called  him  to  her, 
good,  but  Althea,  after  one  questioning  glance  in  his  direction, 
raised  her  chin  in  her  old  defiant  manner,  and  without  deign- 
ing to  give  a  word  to  her  Aunt  Henrietta,  bade  her  kinsfolk 
good  night  in  a  steady  voice,  and  went  away  up  the  stair. 

Jock  watched  till  he  lost  sight  of  Althea  in  the  shadows  of 
the  gallery,  and  he  waited,  standing  by  the  door,  till  the  two 
other  gentlewomen  had  gone  their  ways  and  Jarvis  had  gone 
with  his  mother.  While  he  waited  he  felt  the  dour  anger  that 
he  had  cherished  for  days  flare  with  the  fresh  kindling  that 
these  new  exasperations,  albeit  from  other  sources,  had  heaped 
upon  it.  At  least,  whatever  he  might  have  to  face  next  day, 
in  the  new  complication  of  the  heiress  wife  who  was  not  his 
wife,  and  her  pack  of  jealous  kindred,  for  that  night  he  had 
before  him  the  chestnut-haired  Philip.  With  his  habit  of  do- 
ing the  immediate  thing,  he  set,  according  to  a  plan  so  long 
fostered  that  perhaps,  even  if  he  would,  he  could  not  have 
disregarded  it,  to  scoring  out  his  grudge  against  his  old  enemy. 

In  the  midst  of  the  shifting  of  places,  the  brief  exchange  of 
words  with  which  the  men  were  separating  for  the  night,  Jock 
went  swiftly  from  the  hall  and  in  the  kitchen  that  he  knew  of 
old  found  him  a  crust  of  bread,  which  he  bestowed  in  his 
pocket.  Then  he  sought  out  Verney  Claybourne,  forsaken  all 
the  evening  by  his  mates  and  hence  disconsolate,  and  with 
Verney  in  attendance  he  strode  back  to  the  hall.  There  he 
found  the  little  company  of  Heyrouns  just  dispersir^.  Old 
Martin,  indeed,  had  clambered  halfway  up  the  staircase,  hold- 
ing to  Lieutenant  Phil's  arm,  and  Rafe  and  Inchcome  stood 
in  speech  at  the  stair-foot,  but  the  chestnut-haired  Philip  still 


316  THE  FAIE  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

sat  staring  before  him  in  the  place  at  table  where  he  had  sat 
throughout  the  hours  of  his  overthrow. 

Straight  across  the  hall  Jock  went  and  halted  opposite  the 
chestnut-haired  Philip.  "Mr.  Heyroun,  I  would  speak  a 
word  with  you  now,"  he  said.  In  his  voice  was  a  note  that, 
albeit  without  design  upon  his  part,  made  those  that  were  on 
the  staircase  pause  and  look  toward  him.  "Will  you  fetch 
your  sword?"  Jock  went  on,  leaning  forward  a  little  with 
both  hands  on  the  table.  "Send  also  for  your  brother  that 
he  may  see  fair  play,  and  I  have  here  an  honest  gentleman 
that  will  be  my  second." 

On  the  staircase  Martin  Heyroun  spoke  a  word  beneath  his 
breath  to  his  son  Phil,  and  Inchcome's  gray  face  lighted  with 
a  sudden  gleam  that  as  suddenly  died.  If  the  gentlemen  had 
the  hope  that,  most  opportunely  for  the  kindred  of  the  mar- 
ried heiress,  Jock  might  engage  in  a  duel,  as  fatal  to  him 
should  he  slay  his  adversary  as  it  were  should  he  himself  be 
slain,  they  found  that  hope  defrauded,  and  for  that  disappoint- 
ment they  had  no  one  to  thank  but  the  chestnut-haired  Philip. 

Coward  at  heart,  and  conscious  of  what  reason  the  man 
that  confronted  him  had  in  seeking  vengeance,  Philip  durst 
not  for  very  life  accept  the  challenge.  Without  making  a 
movement  to  rise,  he  looked  at  Jock,  and  blinked,  avoiding 
the  gaze  of  the  steady  gray  eyes  that  met  his.  "Word  o' 
truth  !"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  shook.  "  Am  I  to  be  affronted, 
even  in  this  house,  by  every  out-at-elbow  sworder?  Here  is 
no  tavern  to  brawl  in,  sirrah !" 

Jock  turned  then  to  the  men,  Philip's  kindred,  who  each 
and  all  had  left  the  staircase  and  drawn  near.  "  I  pray  you 
all,  go  hence!"  he  said.  "Though  this  gentleman  will  not 
fight  in  honorable  combat,  I  yet  will  speak  for  a  moment 
alone  with  him." 

With  a  look  in  the  eyes  that  Jock  remembered,  Rafe 
Heyroun  headed  at  once  from  the  hall,  and  Inchcome,  smil- 


THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  LIVING  HETHERINGTON        317 

ing  faintly,  took  up  a  candle  and  made  as  if  to  follow,  but 
Martin  Heyroun,  on  principle,  hesitated  to  do  Jock's  bid- 
ding. 

"Will  you  go?"  Jock  repeated.  "Make  me  not  to  remind 
you,  sir,  that  under  this  roof  you  are  now  my  guests." 

They  went  then.  Lieutenant  Phil  looking  back  as  if  loath  to 
go,  and  Rafe  coaxing  out  his  almost  apoplectic  father.  Last 
of  all  went  Verney  Claybourne,  and  on  the  threshold  he  turned 
with  his  hand  on  the  latch.  "Good  speed  to  you,  Jock!" 
said  Verney.  "I'll  keep  the  door,  and  my  life  on't,  none 
shall  come  hither  to  disturb  you." 

As  he  spoke  Verney  banged  to  the  door,  and  while  the  echo 
still  lingered  in  the  vaulted  roof  of  the  hall,  Jock  sat  himself 
down  on  a  stool  opposite  Philip  at  the  table,  just  as  he  had 
sat  him  once  before,  on  the  day  that  had  been  the  day  of  his 
marriage.  That  day  Philip  must  have  borne  in  mind,  and 
other  days,  for  in  the  candlelight  his  face  was  thin  and  drawn. 

"It  was  for  the  sake  of  three  men  that  I  came  back  to 
Graystones,"  Jock  explained  patiently,  leaning  forward  with 
his  folded  arms  upon  the  table.  "For  Esdras  Inchcome,  he 
is  serviceable  to  my  friend  Claybourne  and  thereto  he  is  a 
lawyer,  such  as  are  licensed  to  be  greater  knaves  than  other 
men.  For  Lambert  Wogan,  he  avowed  his  purpose  to  do  me 
hurt  and  did  it,  so  far  as  he  was  able,  and  I  will  do  the  like  by 
him  an  I  meet  him,  and  there's  an  end  on't.  But  for  you, 
sir,  you  did  seek  me  out  and  profess  to  be  my  friend,  even 
while  you  meditated  that  which  you  pleasantly  named  an 
accident,  there  at  the  ford  on  the  way  to  Clegden.  And  I  am 
also,  sir,  your  debtor  for  a  certain  dish  of  comfortable  meat." 

As  he  noted  the  spasm  of  twitching  that  racked  Philip's 
white  face,  Jock  acquitted  Blanche  Mallory  of  any  least  part 
that  he  might  have  suspected  her  to  have  had  in  preparing 
the  food  that  had  been  set  before  him  in  the  cellar.  Well 
assured,  he  resumed  his  speech.     "  You  will  not  fight  me  as  I 


318  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

prayed  you,  Mr.  Heyroun.  Still,  you  shall  do  penance  foi 
what  you  put  in  practice."  From  his  pocket  Jock  drew  the 
crust  of  bread,  and  cast  it  on  the  table  before  Philip.  "  Eat 
it!"  he  bade. 

Because  Philip  was  coward  to  the  heart,  he  lost  in  that 
moment  all  sense  of  reason  and  of  likelihood  that  might  have 
saved  him.  With  a  womanish  cry  he  half  rose  from  the  table, 
and  at  that  movement  Jock  flashed  his  sword  clear  and  stood 
over  him.  "  You  would  not  fetch  your  sword,  though  I  bade 
you,"  Jock  spoke  between  his  teeth.   "  Now — eat  that  bread  !" 

In  the  end  Philip  ate  the  bread,  or  a  portion  of  it,  because 
Jock  had  a  sword  and  much  strength  and  skill  in  the  art  of 
scuffling,  and  thereto  the  best  reasons  in  the  world  for  not 
sparing  the  man  who  now  was  at  his  mercy.  Philip  ate  half 
the  bread,  and  then  Jock  left  him  lying  by  the  hearth,  a 
mere  crumpled  heap  of  garments,  and  made  his  way  across 
the  hall  to  the  door.  He  went  amid  thick  shadows  where 
the  flickering  glow  of  the  fire  gave  the  only  light,  for  in  the 
struggle  with  Philip  the  table  had  been  overthrown  and 
the  candles  had  gone  out,  and  as  he  went,  he  nursed  a 
bitten  hand.  But  despite  the  hurt  in  his  hand,  Jock  smiled 
to  himself,  for  he  could  hear  the  while  Philip's  voice  that 
whimpered  in  the  dark. 

Jock  flung  the  door  open,  and  stood  a  moment  peering 
upon  the  startled  faces  of  the  men  without.  Having 
ears,  they  must  have  heard  the  sounds  of  the  scuffle  in  the 
hall  and  the  bitter  outcries,  which  had  not  been  wrung  from 
him,  but  even  had  Verney  not  been  there  to  block  the  way, 
he  doubted  if  any  man  of  them  would  have  come  in  to  succor 
Philip.  They  came  in  now,  however,  when  the  work  was 
done,  and  Martin  Heyroun,  glancing  toward  Philip's  pros- 
trate form,  gave  a  cry.  "You  rogue!"  he  turned  on  Jock, 
and  his  voice  rang  satisfied.  "  An  you  have  slain  this  man,  I 
swear  that  you  shall  hang  I" 


THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  LIVING  HETHERINGTON        319 

"In  which  event,  my  good  Martin,"  said  Inchcome,  "we  all 
are  like  to  be  hanged  along  with  him  as  accessories." 

The  word  "hang"  seemed  to  have  reached  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  chestnut-haired  Philip.  He  dragged  himself  up 
on  his  bent  elbow,  turning  to  his  kinsmen  a  face  that  showed 
ghastly  and  disfigured  in  the  mingled  light  of  the  fire  and  of 
the  pale  candle  that  Inchcome  held.  "Ay,  sirs!"  he  cried, 
and  with  effort  pointed  to  Jock,  who  midmost  of  the  little 
group  still  nursed  his  bitten  hand.  "Look  well  to  that  fel- 
low !  See  that  he  wins  the  gallows  to  reqiAte  him  —  the  foul 
murderer !  He  forced  it  upon  me.  With  my  dying  breath  I 
say  it.     He  has  poisoned  me." 

With  a  whistle  of  dismay  Lieutenant  Phil  stepped  back  a 
little  from  where  he  stood  near  to  Jock,  and  Martin  Heyroun, 
most  ostentatiously,  did  the  same.  "Well?"  said  Inchcome, 
but  Rafe  Heyroun,  standing  in  shadow,  wasted  no  words, 
while  he  watched  Jock's  face. 

"  And  wherefore,"  said  Jock,  "  should  you  hold  that  I 
would  poison  you  ?  How  know  you  that  the  pain  that  racks 
you  comes  not  from  food  that  you  ate  long  hours  since  ?  How 
know  you  that  the  bread  I  gave  you  was  not  good  bread?" 

At  that  the  chestnut-haired  PhiUp  began  to  laugh,  and  bark- 
ing with  laughter,  dropped  his  head  on  his  arms  and  lay  writh- 
ing. In  that  moment  Jock  caught  Rafe's  eye,  and  after  that 
they  two,  at  least,  no  longer  played  at  cross  purposes.  Straight 
to  his  prostrate  kinsman  went  Rafe  and  touched  his  shoul- 
der. "Give  us  the  grounds  wherefore  you  do  suspect  this 
man,"  he  said,  "  and  you,  gentlemen,  be  witnesses  all,  and  you, 
Hetherington,  stand  you  forward  that  your  accuser  may  look 
upon  you." 

In  the  half  light  Jock  stood,  ringed  round  by  the  semicircle 
of  doubting  men,  and  looked  upon  Philip's  face  that  was  eager 
with  hatred  of  him,  and  beyond  Philip  met  Rafe's  eyes  that 
in  their  merriment  were  terrible. 


320  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

"I  know  he  sought  to  slay  me,"  PhiUp  cried  exultantly, 
"  because  he  would  avenge  himself  —  because  aforetime  I  did 
the  trick  myself  —  because  I  put  rosaker  in  meat  that  was 
meant  for  him,  what  time  he  was  a  prisoner  here  in  the  Gray- 
stones  cellar." 

"You  devil !"  said  Lieutenant  Phil,  and  said  it  honestly. 

"There  is  the  reason  for  this  that  he  has  done,"  cried  Philip, 
unregarding.  "  He  has  slain  me  —  bear  me  witness,  sirs  1 
The  law  will  not  excuse  him,  you  know  it  well,  Inchcome,  for 
that  I  first  did  strive  to  slay  him.  He  is  a  murderer  —  a 
proven  murderer.  Ay,  and  you  shall  hang,  you  gallows' 
dog !  "  he  shrieked  at  Jock.  "  Look  to  it,  kinsmen !  Look 
to  it,  I  charge  you!"  and  there  the  chestnut-haired  Philip 
collapsed,  face  down  upon  the  floor,  and  moaned  aloud  for  a 
doctor. 

"How  long  has  he  to  live?"  said  Rafe,  in  the  perturbed 
silence  that  was  broken  only  by  Philip's  groans.  "You 
should  know  —  you  scoundrel!"  he  addressed  Jock,  with 
entire  gravity. 

Jock,  in  kind,  made  answer,  "Faith,  a  doctor  will  do  him 
no  good !" 

Then  did  the  chestnut-haired  Philip  wail  with  exceeding 
bitterness  where  he  writhed  upon  the  floor,  and  even  as  he 
had  done  by  the  ford  on  the  Clegden  road,  began  to  confess 
his  sins  to  Heaven  and  all  hearers :  "  A  doctor !  Rafe !  Uncle 
Martini  In  Heaven's  mercy,  fetch  a  doctor!  I  cannot  die 
—  I  dare  not  —  hell  gapes  for  me  —  and  I  durst  not  go  to 
encounter  my  uncle  that  is  slain." 

"  Your  passing  will  be  the  easier  if  you  make  full  confession 
of  that  which  burdens  your  soul,"  suggested  Rafe.  "Tell  us 
all  that  pertains  to  your  dealings  with  our  dead  kinsman  — 
tell  it,  and  I  swear  that  if  you  die  now,  I  will  see  to  it  that 
this  man  Hetherington  is  hanged,  and  so  will  my  father  and 
my  brother." 


THE  HUMOR  OF  THE  LIVING  HETHERINGTON       321 

They  gave  that  promise,  old  Martin  with  notable  zealous- 
ness,  and  then  the  chestnut-haired  Philip  fixed  Jock  with  eyes 
of  hatred  and  poured  out  the  confession  that  was  to  buy  him 
vengeance. 

"  Sirs,  'tis  true  that  I  had  knowledge  of  Captain  Hethering- 
ton  aforetime.  We  had  spent  merry  nights  together.  'Twas 
I  that  counselled  him  make  his  landing  at  this  part  of  the 
coast,  long  months  since.  I  held  that  he  might  prove  useful 
unto  me.  He  was  a  desperate  fellow,  and  I  was  at  a  desperate 
pass.  Death  o'  my  soul !  'twas  all  fault  of  that  dead  villain, 
mine  uncle.  Heaven  guard  him !  I  speak  no  ill  of  him,  now 
that  he  is  dead.  But  he  had  borne  me  in  hand,  letting  me 
think  that  in  time  all  should  be  mine.  I  had  borrowed  in 
expectation  thereof — " 

"At  fifty  per  cent,"  Rafe  murmured. 

"I  knew  that  his  will  gave  all  unto  me.  But  he  did  not 
die  —  he  did  not  die !  Mayhap  if  Captain  Hetherington 
should  attack  the  house  —  Nay,  nay,  'twas  not  for  that  I 
bade  the  Captain  hither — I  swear  'twas  not  for  that,"  he 
repeated  to  the  incredulous  faces  that  lowered  upon  him,  and 
then,  as  if  acquiescent  in  the  unspoken  charge,  he  changed 
his  tone:  "In  any  case,  ere  the  Captain  came,  my  uncle 
made  another  will.  I  suspected  that  he  knew  of  the  hundred 
crowns  that  I  had  borrowed  from  his  strong  box.  I  was 
feared  of  that  second  will.  So  I  moved  the  Captain  to  bring 
from  his  chamber  the  box  and  the  two  wills  that  lay 
within." 

"At  that  moment,"  said  Inchcome,  "your  Uncle  Philip 
Heyroun  lay  sick  of  an  apoplexy.  You  knew  that  a  violent 
burst  of  passion  would  be  his  death.  You  knew  that  the 
seizure  of  that  box,  beneath  his  very  eyes,  would  provoke 
him  to  frenzy.  'Twas  not  alone  to  take  the  deal  box  that  you 
sent  Captain  Hetherington  into  that  chamber.  Designedly 
you  made  him  the  instrument  of  your  kinsman's  death." 


322  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Under  the  old  lawyer's  eyes,  Philip  sank  down  with  face 
hidden.  "But  Hetherington  played  false!"  he  whimpered 
piteously.  "'Twas  naught  but  the  earlier  will  he  gave  into 
my  keeping.  He  took  the  other  will  and  the  box  that  held 
it.  He  would  not  let  me  look  thereon.  He  took  the  other 
will,  and  he  swore  outright  that  henceforth  he  would  have 
of  me  such  moneys  as  he  chose  to  ask,  else  through  that  will 
he  would  undo  me.  And  then,"  cried  Philip,  with  a  sudden 
upfiing  of  the  head,  "he  sent  this  other  devil  to  torment  me 
—  even  when  he  was  dead  he  sent  this  other  devil.  Between 
them  they  have  tricked  me  and  ruined  me,  but  you'll  pay  for 
it !"  he  raged  up  into  Jock's  stolid  face.  "You'll  pay  —  hell 
rot  your  bones!    You'll  hang  —  you'll  hang  in  chains — " 

"Will  I  so?"  said  Jock,  with  the  sudden  hateful  grin  that 
bared  his  teeth.  He  stooped  and  took  from  the  floor  the 
mangled  and  trodden  remnant  of  the  crust  of  bread.  "Will 
you  have  more  of  it,  cousin  by  marriage?"  he  said,  proffer- 
ing the  morsel,  which  Philip  promptly  identified  by  clapping 
his  arm  across  his  mouth.  "Then,"  said  Jock,  "I'll  make 
shift  to  eat  it  myself.  'Tis  good  bread,  gentlemen,  and  harm- 
less, and  it  came  of  the  loaf  that  we  ate  at  supper." 

In  a  silence  where  comprehension  deepened,  Jock  leisurely 
ate  the  bread  to  the  last  crumb,  and  then,  on  the  sudden, 
Verney  Claybourne  threw  back  his  head  with  a  shout  of 
laughter,  and  fetched  Jock  a  thwacking  blow  between  the 
shoulders.  Instantly  Lieutenant  Phil,  savoring  the  jest 
at  last  and  from  the  camp  standpoint  relishing  it,  joined  in, 
and  Martin  Heyroun,  although  loath  to  commend  Jock,  made 
an  unwilling  third  for  the  sake  of  smiting  the  chestnut-haired 
Philip. 

In  very  truth  there  seemed  no  need  to  strike  him  lower. 
Betrayed  by  his  own  coward  fear,  the  man  who  was  self- 
confessed  a  thief  and  an  assassin,  had  not  the  spirit  even 
to  curse  Jock  who  had  undone  him.    White,  furtive-eyed, 


THE  HUMOR   OF  THE  LIVING  HETHERINGTON        323 

broken,  he  crouched  against  the  hearth  where  he  lay.  "Get 
up,  sirrah!"  Inchcome  bade  savagely.  '"Tis  no  poison, 
merely  conscience  that  ails  you.  Get  up !  We  that  stand 
for  your  dead  kinsman  have  now  to  speak  with  you,"  but 
Philip  bowed  his  head  and  made  no  movement  to  rise. 

It  had  been  in  Jock's  mind  that  when  this,  the  final  moment, 
came,  he  should  laugh,  but  he  did  not.  In  his  pocket  he 
handled  a  shilling  that  he  had  borrowed  of  Verney,  with  the 
express  purpose  of  giving  it  to  Philip  then  and  there,  even  as 
Philip,  days  earlier,  had  given  him  a  shilling  before  his  gaping 
household.  But  as  he  looked  at  Philip,  beggared  of  goods 
and  fame,  beggared  of  what  poor  manhood  had  been  his,  he 
felt  that  his  purposed  revenge  had  lost  its  savor.  To  strike 
now  at  the  chestnut-haired  Philip  was  no  more  pleasurable 
than  to  spurn  a  truss  of  mouldy  straw.  On  sudden  impulse 
Jock  took  up  his  sword  that  had  gone  to  ground  in  the  scuffle 
and  struck  it  back  into  the  sheath. 

"  Sirs,"  he  said  to  the  men  who  watched  him,  with  what 
for  once  was  grudging  approval,  "long  since  you  questioned 
me  here  in  this  hall,  touching  your  little  deal  box  that  was 
gone  astray,  and  now  I  have  answered  you,  albe  through 
another  mouth,  and  now,  sirs,  I  am  going  hence  to  bed,  for 
I  hold  that  my  work  is  done." 


CHAPTER  XXVni 


BY  RIGHT   OF  HIS  WIFE 


True  to  his  word,  Jock  went  to  his  bed,  in  his  old  quarters 
in  the  roof  room  that  he  himself,  this  time,  had  chosen  to 
occupy,  but,  contrary  to  his  purpose,  he  did  not  sleep.  Turn- 
ing and  tossing  there  in  the  dark,  he  reviewed  the  tangle  of 
the  past  months,  made  straight  at  last,  —  the  sinister  old 
companionship  of  the  chestnut-haired  Philip  and  Captain 
Hetherington,  the  blood-stained  seizure  of  the  deal  box  in 
which  the  strong  ruffian  had  outplayed  the  weak  trickster, 
his  own  blind  part  in  the  story,  first  Philip  Heyroun's  pup- 
pet, then,  to  the  guilt-stricken  man,  a  menace,  and  at  the 
last  his  betrayer.  Part  by  part,  he  followed  each  actor  in 
the  story,  —  Philip,  the  Captain,  Blanche  Mallory,  the  dead 
He)Toun,  Esdras  Inchcome. 

When  Jock  came  to  Inchcome,  he  came  near  to  the  problem 
that  he  would  leave  for  the  present  untried  —  the  knotty 
problem  of  his  whole  relation  to  Althea.  This  much,  at  least, 
was  clear:  Inchcome  alone  had  known  the  contents  of  the 
last  will,  the  one  made  in  May,  and  though  he  knew  that 
Althea  was  prospectively  an  heiress,  he  had  in  due  legal  fash- 
ion kept  that  knowledge  from  her  kin.  Holding  the  girl  a 
pawn  in  the  game,  to  be  left  in  the  box  until  needed,  he  had 
taken  no  thought  for  her  comfort,  even  for  her  safety.  Why 
should  he  pain  himself,  he  seemed  to  have  reasoned,  when 
the  girl  was  well  enough  where  she  was,  and  perchance,  if 

324 


BY  RIGHT  OF  HIS  WIFE  326 

the  lost  will  were  not  found,  would  remain  a  poor  relation 
to  the  end  of  her  days?  Thus  carelessly  had  Inchcome 
guarded  her,  and  thus,  by  the  slippery  sport  of  fate,  the 
heiress  had  been  wed  in  haste  to  the  first  stray  trooper  that 
presented  himself,  "an  out-at-elbow  sworder,"  as  Philip  had 
named  him.  Jock  laughed  at  the  jest,  and  in  the  dark  and 
the  silence  was  startled  at  the  sound  of  that  bitter  laughter. 

Yes,  there  was  much  to  think  upon  before  he  could  tell 
how  he  should  bear  himself  toward  Althea  and  toward  the 
Heyrouns,  but  for  now,  in  the  early  hours  of  the  morning, 
his  head  was  heavy  and  his  brain  was  fairly  stiff  with  sleepi- 
ness and  long  thinking.  In  the  daylight  when  he  woke  clear- 
headed, he  would  have  an  hour  to  himself,  there  in  the  bare 
roof  room,  and  then,  according  to  his  wont,  he  would  discover 
what  was  next  to  do. 

In  this  expectation  Jock  fell  asleep,  but  he  found  the  expec- 
tation vain.  He  did  not  wake  of  himself,  alone  in  the  roof 
room,  for  a  quiet  hour  of  reflection.  He  woke  because  some 
one  was  shaking  him  by  the  shoulder,  and  when  he  came 
alertly  from  his  sleep,  he  found  that  the  room  was  clear  with 
daylight  and  over  him  stood  Rafe  Heyroun,  grave-faced, 
with  a  letter  in  his  hand. 

"What's  to  do?"  said  Jock,  and  sat  up,  screwing  his 
knuckles  into  his  eyes. 

"Your  friends,  Tevery  and  Framlingham,  are  gone,"  Rafe 
answered.     "They  left  the  house  last  night." 

"Truth,"  said  Jock,  "we  might  have  known  they  had  some- 
thing in  hand  to  busy  them,  else  they'd  have  had  a  share  in 
the  brangle,  there  in  the  hall." 

"  And,"  Rafe  continued,  "  this  same  night  Mistress  Mallory 
too  is  gone." 

Jock  whistled,  extremely  wide  awake  by  now.  "  They  did 
not  make  me  of  their  counsels,  but  I  suspicioned  some- 
thing," he  said.     "They  left  a  letter?" 


326  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

Rafe  handed  it  to  Jock.  "Given  in  charge  to  one  of  the 
serving  men  to  give  to  you  this  morning.  I  sought  you  out 
at  once.  In  some  sort  the  young  woman  was  under  our 
protection." 

Jock  nodded  as  he  opened  the  letter.  "'Tis  from  Dick," 
he  summarized  the  first  of  the  two  sheets.  "He  says  that 
in  my  new  fortunes  they  hold  my  plans  are  altered,  so  they 
are  embarking  for  the  Low  Countries  without  staying  for 
me.  They  take  ship  this  day  from  Clegden.  Faith,  they 
are  embarked  by  now !  He  adds  that  Will  has  chosen  him  a 
sweet  comrade  for  the  journey." 

"And  the  woman  herself?"  asked  Rafe,  still  gravely. 

Already  Jock  was  deep  in  the  second  sheet  that  had  been 
enclosed  within  the  first  —  a  fair  little  letter,  written  in  a 
fine,  clear  hand.  He  read,  at  first  with  a  puzzled  face,  and 
then,  in  slow  comprehension,  he  smiled. 

"She  was  fain  to  have  it,"  he  said  at  last,  glancing  up  at 
Rafe.  "She  writes  fleeringly,  sir,  pluming  herself  on  having 
the  last  word  and  the  last  laugh  of  me.  Truth,  you  folk  at 
Graystones  must  ofttimes  have  marred  matches  on  which 
she  had  set  her  heart !  She  holds  that  I  was  endeavoring  to 
do  the  same."  He  passed  the  letter  to  Rafe.  "  Read,  an  you 
will.  I  warned  her  for  her  own  sake  —  Heaven  knows  where- 
fore !  She  thought  I  meant  to  save  my  friend  from  marrying 
with  her." 

"Marriage?"  said  Rafe,  with  a  shrug.  "Why,  then,  we 
have  no  concern  in  this." 

"  Ay,  married  yesternight  at  Clegden  to  Will  Framlingham," 
said  Jock.  "And  Will,  to  my  sure  knowledge,  has  one  wife 
in  the  West  Country  and  another  in  the  Palatinate.  When 
all's  said,  she  was  but  a  novice  in  the  grim  trade  of  pleasur- 
ing, and  Will  is  a  gentleman  of  wide  experience.  She  would 
better  have  taken  my  warning  and  not  have  sported  with 
hhn." 


BY  EIGHT  OF  HIS   WIFE  327 

In  silence  Rafe  scanned  the  letter,  the  writing  of  the  girl, 
triumphant  in  her  sense  of  having  outwitted  them,  who,  as 
they  knew,  was  herself  most  tragically  outwitted.  He  read, 
and  frowning,  put  aside  the  paper.  "Well,"  said  he,  "ere 
this  she  is  embarked  upon  the  high  seas,  beyond  our  reach  of 
interference.  And  in  any  case,  'tis  not  our  business.  She 
is  woman  grown,  and  ere  she  went  upon  this  path  she  had 
fair  warning.  Moreover,"  he  added,  with  cynical  memories 
of  the  girl,  "I'll  swear  she  was  herself  one-half  the  wooer." 

In  such  terms  the  two  men  spoke  Blanche  Mallory's  fare- 
well, and  putting  by  the  subject  in  the  moment  while  Jock 
shredded  the  letters  to  scraps,  fell  to  speaking  of  other  things. 

"My  kinsman  Philip  left  the  house  at  daybreak,"  Rafe 
informed  Jock.  "We  had  some  speech  with  him,  Inchcome 
and  I.  'Twere  better  than  that  he  should  be  haled  into  the 
courts,  for,  after  all,  our  blood  is  in  his  veins.  He  leaves  the 
country  as  soon  as  he  can  get  shipping,  and  he  will  not  return. 
His  mother  and  his  brother  Jarvis  are  minded  to  quit  Gray- 
stones  this  day,  even  this  hour.  'Tis  nine  o'clock  of  the  morn- 
ing by  this  time,  Yorkshire.  You'd  best  be  stirring,  for  you'll 
find  enough  to  busy  you." 

It  was  the  only  word  of  Rafe's  that  could  be  construed  into 
an  admission  that  Jock's  standing  in  the  house  had  altered 
in  the  last  hours,  and  even  that  word  was  carefully  non- 
committal. Jock  reflected  upon  this  after  Rafe  had  gone 
and  he  was  dressing.  Plainly  Rafe  meant  to  observe  a  strict 
neutrality  in  the  impending  conflict. 

With  a  growing  desire  to  fight,  Jock  took  his  way  down  the 
stair,  and  in  the  lobby  below  met  with  one  of  the  serving  men. 
At  another  time  he  might  have  been  amused  by  the  evident 
perplexity  of  the  fellow  who,  sharing  the  embarrassment  of 
his  betters,  scarcely  knew  how  to  treat  the  new  master  of 
Graystones.  At  the  moment,  however,  he  felt  no  amusement, 
only  rising  anger. 


328  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

"If  it  like  you,  sir,"  the  fellow  hesitated,  "Mr.  Martin 
Heyroun  would  speak  with  ye  at  once,  and  I  am  sent  to 
fetch  ye." 

"  Tell  Mr.  Heyroun,"  Jock  answered  promptly,  "  that  I  am 
his  servant  to  speak  with  him  for  an  hour,  at  two  of  the 
clock  this  afternoon  in  the  hall.  For  now  I  am  otherwise 
busied." 

He  left  the  man  staring  and  strode  upon  his  way.  He  had 
spoken,  as  he  thought,  without  premeditation,  but  he  realized 
now  that  the  speech  was  the  logical  outcome  of  the  specula- 
tions, the  planning,  the  arguing,  that,  almost  without  his  con- 
trol, had  gone  on  in  his  brain  ever  since  he  had  listened  to  the 
will  that  made  his  wife  an  heiress.  Born  in  a  country  that 
was  the  mother  of  shrewd  men  and  hard-headed,  he  knew 
that  he  was  not  by  nature  one  to  give  up  a  fair  estate  for  any 
mere  scruple,  and  moreover,  in  the  sequel  of  Martin  Hey- 
roun's  message,  as  curt  a  message  as  would  have  been  sent 
him,  had  he  been  still  a  paroled  prisoner  in  that  house,  he  felt 
his  blood  tingle  with  the  lust  of  combat.  Obstinate  by  habit, 
even  as  in  the  old  days  he  had  broken  out  of  Graystones 
because  the  Heyrouns  were  set  to  hold  him  prisoner,  he  was 
determined  now  to  stay  at  Graystones  because  the  Heyrouns 
would  have  him  gone. 

He  descended  to  the  hall,  and  with  a  feeling  that  he  choked 
for  fresh  air,  passed  out  into  the  garden.  He  was  minded  to 
go  still  farther,  into  the  fields,  but  as  he  turned  toward  the 
garden  gate  he  heard  a  light  step  behind  him,  and  when  he 
faced  about,  he  fronted  Althea.  She  had  come  quickly,  so 
that  her  hood  had  slipped  back,  and  her  hair  was  disordered 
about  her  forehead,  and  her  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  her  eyes 
shone.  So  she  had  looked  there  on  the  islet,  on  the  highway, 
when  she  was  his,  all  his.  Gazing  upon  her  now,  Jock  fairly 
cursed  the  fortune  that  barred  the  way  between  them  —  the 
way  that  otherwise,  somehow,  he  might  have  bridged. 


BY  RIGHT  OF  HIS  WIFE  329 

For  the  fortune's  sake,  he  spoke  almost  as  if  she  were  an 
enemy,  "Well,  mistress?" 

"I've  labored  cruel  hard,"  she  said,  and  smiled  to  win  his 
smile.  "My  Aunt  Henrietta  sticks  to  me  closer  than  any 
brother.     Such  a  wearisome  woman!" 

"Ay,  mistress,"  he  answered,  full  of  his  own  thought,  "but 
you  are  now  a  jewel  worth  the  guarding." 

She  sighed,  and  her  eyes  grew  wistful.  "Such  a  deal  of 
money,  Jock!" 

"Ay,  a  deal !"  he  said  shortly. 

"I  am  glad  that  you  are  here,"  she  began,  and  faltered 
under  his  sullen  look,  and  changed  her  sentence,  "glad  that 
you  are  here  to  help  me  look  to  it." 

He  laughed.  "In  that  Rafe  Heyroun  or  Inchcome  have 
far  more  skill  to  serve  you  than  have  I.  In  all  my  life,  mis- 
tress, I  never  handled  the  worth  of  fifty  crowns  at  one  time." 

In  his  bitterness  he  spoke  more  savagely  than  he  had  meant 
to  speak,  and  he  saw,  spite  of  the  proud  set  of  the  girl's  lips, 
the  hurt  look  that  sprang  to  her  eyes.  He  had  the  impulse 
to  try  to  comfort  her,  and  checked  it,  full  of  shame  that  in 
his  very  declaration  of  poverty,  in  her  recent  acknowledgment 
of  wealth,  he  had  been  about  to  woo  her. 

In  that  moment  of  hesitation  came  Lieutenant  Phil,  swag- 
gering down  the  path,  with  a  new  outspoken  friendliness  for 
Althea  and  his  old  contemptuous  coolness  even  heightened 
for  Jock.  "Well,  cousin,"  he  cried,  "give  me  good  speed! 
My  leave  is  at  an  end,  and  I  ride  this  day  to  Hertford." 

She  said  as,  mistress  of  the  house,  she  was  bound  to  sayr 
"I  am  sorry  for  your  going.  You  will  come  unto  us  again, 
good  cousin?" 

"Ay,  surely,"  answered  Phil,  "an  you  bid  me  do  so!" 

Jock  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  away.  Since  he  was 
her  husband  by  no  wish  of  hers,  he  might  order  her  fortune, 
but  he  would  not  order  her  friends.    He  left  her  with  Lieu- 


330  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

tenant  Phil  and  went  away  to  the  stables,  where  he  sought 
to  cheer  himself  with  the  sight  of  the  horses,  a  dearer  sight 
than  ever  now  that  he  could  tell  himself  that  every  beast 
of  them  was  his.  A  man  were  a  fool  indeed  to  let  slip  his 
hold  on  such  a  stable. 

Then,  in  the  midst  of  this,  the  one  mood  approaching  cheer- 
fulness that  he  had  known  that  day,  he  fell  to  other  thoughts 
and  reddened  with  shame.  Steadied  again  to  the  likeness  of 
himself,  he  saw  that  Althea  had  come  to  speak  with  him  in 
decent  civility,  as  a  wife  should,  that  she  had  been  courteous 
to  her  kinsman  as  was  the  duty  of  a  hostess,  and  he  had  re- 
plied with  loss  of  temper  and  gone  to  seek  him  comfort  among 
the  horses.  He  was  a  stableboy,  he  reflected,  with  all  his 
savagery  turned  now  upon  himself,  and  she  was  a  gentle- 
woman, and  he  was  not  fit  to  live  beneath  the  same  roof  with 
her. 

On  that  day  Jock  might  well  have  prayed  to  be  delivered 
from  his  friends,  for  just  as  he  was  softening  to  a  mood  in 
which  he  was  almost  ready  to  find  Althea  and  strive  to  have 
a  clear  understanding  with  her,  Verney  Claybourne  sought 
him.  "For  now,  Jock,"  said  Verney,  "you  can  bid  me  fare- 
well. I  am  posting  back  to  Claybourne  to  carry  my  mother 
the  good  tidings  of  you  and  of  Mistress  Hetherington." 

They  were  alone  in  the  corner  of  the  stable  where  they 
stood,  near  the  horse-stalls,  and  at  that  moment,  inspired  of 
the  devil,  Verney  caught  Jock  by  the  shoulders  and  pinned 
him  against  the  wall,  in  such  wise  that  he  could  neither  fight 
nor  flee  nor  mask  his  face  from  the  other's  scrutiny.  "  Look 
you,  Jock,"  said  Verney,  "what's  amiss  between  you  and 
your  wife  ?  " 

"  Naught,"  said  Jock,  and  swore.  "  Take  your  hands  from 
me." 

Jock  struggled  as  he  spoke,  but  Verney  was  the  bigger  and 
the  stronger,  and,  more  to  the  point,  knew  of  old  his  favorite 


BY  EIGHT  OF  HIS  WIFE  331 

tricks  of  attack.  He  held  Jock  in  the  same  position  in  which 
he  first  had  pinned  him.  "What  a  plague  \"  said  he,  "you're 
no  child.     You  should  know  how  to  deal  with  a  woman." 

"I  do,"  Jock  answered.  "But  wives  are  different.  I 
never  had  one  ere  now." 

"Pshaw!"  said  Verney.  "Wives  are  women.  Go  kiss 
her  and  make  up  your  difference." 

Said  Jock,  in  extremity,  "  Let  me  go,  else  I'll  kick  the  heart 
out  of  you !" 

As  this  was  in  the  nature  of  a  challenge,  Verney  held  firm 
and,  anticipating  Jock's  movement,  won  him  to  quiet  with  a 
crafty  kick  on  the  ankle.  "I'll  let  you  free  in  a  moment," 
he  said,  "  but  first  I'll  give  you  a  piece  of  good  counsel,  though 
I  know  you  will  despise  it.  You've  much  at  stake  here  in 
this  game,  and  you're  a  fool  to  risk  all,  because  of  a  silly  lovers' 
quarrel.  Your  little  wife's  kinsfolk  are  buzzing  about  her 
while  you're  sulking  in  corners.  Do  you  go  speak  a  word  or 
two  in  her  ear  to  make  things  even.     Man,  she's  your  wife  !" 

"Are  you  done?"  said  Jock,  in  a  dangerous  voice. 

"I  am,"  said  Verney,  and  released  him.  "Now  I'll  leave 
Graystones  ere  you  set  the  dogs  upon  me." 

Verney  went  his  way,  and  try  as  he  would,  Jock  could  give 
him  only  a  half-civil  farewell.  For  Verney,  with  his  calm 
assumption  of  understanding,  had  touched  the  sorest  spot  in 
Jock's  heart  and  set  it  aching.  If  it  had  been  a  lovers'  quarrel, 
as  Verney  took  for  granted,  if  they  had  been  lovers,  all  would 
have  been  easy. 

Dinner  at  Graystones  that  day  was  in  the  nature  of  an  or- 
deal for  all  concerned,  but  it  ended  at  last,  and  then,  quite 
as  Jock  had  expected,  Mistress  Henrietta,  all  unmindful  of 
his  existence  until  that  hour,  prayed  him  attend  her  into  the 
parlor.  He  could  not  well  deny  her  as  he  had  denied  her 
husband  earlier  in  the  day,  so  in  the  parlor  he  spent  a  half 
hour,  discomfortable  to  them  both.     He  heard  in  silence, 


332  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

while  he  studied  the  woman's  face  with  eyes  that  disconcerted 
her,  all  that  a  gentleman  in  his  place  should  do,  all  that  was 
to  say  of  the  girl's  youth  and  inexperience  and  the  cruelty  of 
her  position,  forced  into  a  hateful  marriage,  all  that  could  be 
hinted  as  to  her  heart's  being  engaged  elsewhere,  the  whole 
discourse  seasoned  with  tears  and  womanly  pleas  and  spiced 
by  times  with  sharp  side-comments  on  himself.  He  heard  her 
to  the  end,  and  then  he  rose  and  courteously  held  open  the 
door  for  her  to  pass. 

"  Mistress,"  said  he,  "  I  have  small  love  to  those  that  would 
come  provoking  dissension  between  man  and  wife.  Your 
coach  will  be  in  readiness  at  three  of  the  clock,  and  I  wish  you 
a  pleasant  journey  into  Essex." 

He  handed  her  to  the  staircase,  he  gave  the  needful  direc- 
tions about  the  coach,  and  then  he  lit  him  a  pipe  and  stood 
smoking  before  the  fire  in  the  hall,  while  he  waited  for  two 
o'clock  and  his  interview  with  Martin  Heyroun.  Lashed  by 
the  events  of  the  last  hours,  he  waited  in  as  stubborn  a  fight- 
ing mood  as  ever  he  had  known. 

At  two  of  the  clock,  the  hour  of  his  naming,  they  came  to 
the  hall,  the  three  men  who  alone  were  left  to  represent  the 
Heyrouns, — old  Martin,  stumping  on  his  wooden  leg  and  eying 
Jock  beneath  beetle  brows,  Rafe,  dark,  taciturn,  and  for  once 
not  all  at  ease,  and  Inchcome,  dry,  inscrutable,  with  his  formal 
face  of  legal  business.  They  set  themselves  at  the  great  table, 
while  Jock  still  kept  his  stand  by  the  hearth.  Even  though 
it  was  the  moment  before  battle,  he  gave  a  flitting  backward 
thought  to  his  first  hour  in  that  place,  when  under  far  different 
conditions  he  had  fronted  those  same  men,  and  he  found  that 
he  was  to  fight,  not  merely  for  his  present  possession,  but  to 
avenge  all  that  he  had  suffered  in  the  past. 

"Well,  Mr.  Hetherington,"  said  Inchcome,  smiling  almost 
as  if  he  had  read  Jock's  thought,  "  you  surely  have  the  whip" 
hand  of  us  now." 


BY  RIGHT  OF  HIS  WIFE  333 

"Come  to  the  point!"  growled  Martin. 

"But  at  least,"  Inchcome  pursued  his  tranquil  way,  "we 
can  discuss  the  matter  with  due  calmness,  eh?" 

Jock  nodded,  not  taking  the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  his 
eyes  burned  into  the  faces  before  him.  Rafe,  at  least,  looked 
at  him  curiously,  in  some  doubt  of  his  promise  to  be  calm. 
After  all,  as  the  black  Heyroun  realized,  Jock  was  little  more 
than  a  boy,  and  that  day  he  was  battling  in  deep  waters. 

"  You  may  remember,"  Inchcome  continued,  "  that  I  spoke 
once  unto  you  of  the  wide  resources  of  the  law.  'Tis  a  hard 
thing,  sir,  for  two  people  to  be  tied  together  for  life  against 
their  wills." 

"So  I've  heard,"  said  Jock,  and  flicked  the  ash  from  his 
pipe. 

"Come,  come!"  cried  Martin  Heyroun.  "Enough  of  this! 
He  knows,  and  we  know,  whereof  we  speak.  In  plain  terms, 
sirrah,  what  is  your  price  to  consent  to  a  divorce  between 
yourself  and  the  poor  young  lass  who  was  forced  to  marry 


you 


?" 


Rafe  frowned,  tapping  his  finger-tips  upon  the  table  top, 
and  Inchcome  held  his  breath,  while  they  waited  for  an 
outburst. 

Jock  puffed  his  pipe  in  silence  for  a  moment.  "  Does  Mis- 
tress Hetherington  ask  for  a  divorce  ?"  he  questioned.  "  Rafe 
Heyroun,  you  were  wont  to  be  a  true  man.  Answer  me  that 
question!" 

"She  has  said  no  word  of  the  matter,"  Rafe  answered,  in  a 
voice  that  hinted  that  he  would  fain  be  clear  of  the  business. 

"She  is  very  young  and  overmodest  to  hint  of  such  a 
thing,"  Martin  Heyroun  spoke  by  rote  what  his  wife  had 
surely  taught  him. 

Jock  laughed,  "If  she's  modest  in  her  askings,  faith,  she 
does  not  take  after  her  mother's  kin !" 

"This  is  profitless  wrangling,"  Inchcome  broke  in.     "Let 


334  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

US  be  frank  with  each  other.  We  that  are  the  gentlewoman's 
kinsmen  and  friends  would  gladly  see  that  most  unfortunate 
marriage  set  aside.     With  your  consent  it  may  well  be  done." 

"Ay,"  Martin  Heyroun  interrupted,  "and  we'll  give 
you  a  thousand  pounds  for  your  consent.  Think  well  upon 
it !  A  brisk  young  fellow  like  you  can  do  much  with  a  thou- 
sand pounds." 

"A  brisk  young  fellow  like  me,"  said  Jock,  unmoved,  "can 
do  more  with  five  thousand  a  year." 

"Then  you  purpose — "  said  Inchcome. 

"I  purpose,"  said  Jock,  "to  keep  on  standing  right  here!" 
He  stamped  his  foot  on  the  hearth  as  he  spoke. 

In  the  red  instant  that  followed,  Martin  Heyroun  rose  from 
his  seat.  "You  dare  defy  us?"  he  cried.  "You  that  are 
our  prisoner  — " 

Rafe  caught  his  father's  arm,  but  ere  he  could  silence  the 
old  man,  Jock  lifted  his  voice.  "You  forget  yourself,  sir," 
he  spoke,  high  and  sharp.  "I  am  no  man's  prisoner.  My 
ransom  is  paid.  My  parole  is  given.  Moreover,  I  thank 
Mr.  Inchcome,"  —  he  bowed  quickly,  mockingly,  —  "I  have 
in  my  pocket  the  writing  of  one  of  the  Quorum  that  certifies 
me  as  free  as  any  man  that  stands  here." 

Even  in  the  stress  of  controversy  Inchcome  smiled,  in  wintry 
fashion,  at  this  counters troke,  but  old  Martin  Heyroun,  rag- 
ing beyond  Rafe's  control,  did  not  smile.  He  raised  his  voice 
to  a  shout.  "  You  beggarly  horse-boy !  We'll  see  if  there  be 
law  in  the  land!" 

Jock  wheeled  upon  him.  "There  is  law  in  the  land,"  he 
said  crisply.  "By  that  law  the  girl  that  you  all  neglected 
and  despised  when  she  was  penniless  was  made  my  wife. 
By  that  law  she  is  still  my  wife,  now  that  she  is  an  heiress  — 
now  that  she  has  house  and  lands  and  moneys — a  brave  dowry 
for  your  son  Philip  to  marry,  eh,  sir?"  he  flung  the  words  into 
the  face  of  the  half-choked  Martin  Heyroun.     "  By  that  law 


BY  RIGHT  OF  HIS  WIPE  335 

for  which  you  clamor  I  am  master  here  in  right  of  my  wife. 
By  law  I  hold  the  inheritance  and  I  hold  the  girl^  and  by 
the  splendor  of  God !  I  still  will  hold  them  both  in  spite  of 
you !  " 

He  stopped,  and  for  a  moment  there  was  tense  silence. 
Martin  Heyroun  breathed  loud  and  audibly,  and  Inchcome 
gazed  at  Jock  with  something  like  approval,  and  Rafe  Heyroun 
eyed  the  polished  top  of  the  table. 

"Well,"  said  Jock,  in  his  more  wonted  tone,  "you  have  my 
answer  now.  For  the  present,  gentlemen,  I  give  you  good 
day.  A  pleasant  journey  to  you,  Mr.  Heyroun  !  'Tis  hard  on 
three  o'clock.  Mr.  Inchcome,  there  will  be  legal  matters 
wherein  I  shall  need  your  good  offices,  but  not  to-day.  Rafe 
Heyroun,  will  you  give  me  one  moment  now?" 

The  two  older  men  took  their  dismissal,  Martin  Heyroun 
with  an  aggressive  effort  to  bear  himself  as  a  conqueror, 
Inchcome  with  the  cool  resignation  of  a  legal  instrument  that 
accepted  an  inevitable,  and  not  wholly  displeasing,  change 
of  masters.  They  left  the  hall,  and  the  moment  they  were 
gone,  Jock  sent  his  pipe  crashing  to  the  hearth,  and  coming 
to  the  table,  flung  himself  into  the  nearest  chair.  There  he 
sat  with  his  forehead  resting  on  his  hand  and  his  face  half 
hidden. 

"Rafe  Heyroun,"  said  he,  "you  have  done  me  hitherto 
much  kindness.  I  had  not  looked  to  see  you  make  one  with 
them." 

"I  had  not  done  so,  be  sure,"  Rafe  answered,  "had  your 
wife  been  your  wife  other  than  in  name." 

Jock  flung  back  his  head  and  showed  a  stricken  face  that 
startled  Rafe.  "  You  had  no  right !"  he  said,  breathing  heav- 
ily. "  If  we  are  to  part  as  friends,  sir  —  and  Heaven  knows 
that  such  is  my  wish !  —  we  were  best  part  now  for  a  little 
time." 

So  Rafe  shook  Jock's  hand  —  in  that  he  would  not  be 


336  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

denied  —  and  went  his  way,  and  Jock  was  left,  victor,  alone 
in  the  house  where  he  was  master,  alone  with  his  wife.  He 
was  eager  to  speak  with  Althea,  to  what  purpose  he  scarcely 
knew,  but  he  was  reluctant  to  seek  her  without  her  bidding. 
Instead  he  summoned  the  old  steward,  and  in  the  little 
study  that  had  been  the  dead  Philip  Heyroun's,  spent  the 
afternoon  in  learning  the  extent  of  his  immediate  possessions 
—  what  store  was  in  barns  and  garners,  what  servants 
called  him  master,  what  order  it  would  be  his  part  to 
keep  in  the  house  of  Graystones.  At  first,  in  the  tingling 
sense  of  triumph  that  was  on  him,  he  felt  little  more 
than  the  joy  of  ownership,  but  as  the  afternoon  waned  he 
felt  more  and  more  insistently  the  hope  that  somehow,  by 
some  happy  chance,  he  might  receive  a  word  that  would  call 
him  to  Althea's  side. 

It  was  not  till  supper-time  that  Jock  saw  Althea,  and  then 
he  saw  her  to  little  comfort.  Alone  at  the  table  which  they 
had  hitherto  seen  thronged,  they  ate  their  meal  in  what  was 
for  both  of  them  a  very  agony  of  troubled  silence. 

"  It  seems  strange  to  eat  here,  our  two  selves  alone,"  Althea 
broke  out  in  desperation. 

He  reddened  as  at  a  reproach.  "Are  you  sorry  for  that 
your  aunt  is  gone?"   he  asked. 

"  Nay,  she  was  a  tiresome  woman  and  sought  to  cozen  me. 
As  if  I  could  forget  how  spitefully  of  old  she  treated  mel" 

Althea  spoke  from  her  heart,  but  Jock,  in  the  weariness 
of  reaction,  saw  everything  awry.  Gloomily  he  wondered 
if  the  girl  spoke  the  truth  or  spoke  to  please  the  husband 
forced  upon  her.  Was  there  ground,  perhaps,  for  some  of 
the  passionate  pleadings  that  Mistress  Henrietta  had  uttered 
in  her  niece's  behalf? 

So  tired,  so  disheartened  Jock  felt,  that  he  let  his  mood 
show  in  his  face,  and  noting  this,  when  they  rose  from  their 
disconsolate  meal,  Althea,  in  her  pity  and  anxiety,  took  cour- 


BY  RIGHT  OF  HIS  WIFE  337 

age.  She  went  to  him  where  he  stood  on  the  hearth,  almost 
as  she  would  have  sought  him  in  the  days  when  they  trudged 
the  highway. 

"You  are  weary,  Jock,"  she  said.  "You  must  cease  to 
be  troubled,  now  that  we  are  in  haven." 

He  gave  her  a  look  that  she  did  not  fathom.  As  in  the  days 
at  Claybourne,  when  he  had  found  her  sisterly  kindness  tor- 
ture, he  winced  at  the  sisterly  solicitude  in  her  voice.  He 
wanted  to  kiss  her.  He  wanted,  with  latent  savagery,  to 
strike  her  that  she  came  to  him  in  no  other  wise,  and  then 
inwardly  he  cursed  himself  and  pitied  her.  Poor  little  girl, 
who  dutifully  strove  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  matter  I  He 
took  her  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"  A  little  more,  and  I  shall  indeed  cease  to  take  thought  for 
us  both,"  he  said,  "  But  for  now  —  will  you  leave  me,  dear  ? 
I  must  be  alone." 

He  watched  till  her  candle  twinkled  out  of  sight  in  the 
gloom  of  the  gallery,  and  then  he  sat  down  in  the  great  chair, 
the  master's  chair,  at  the  table,  with  his  face  to  the  fire  that 
burned  upon  the  hearth  that  now  was  his.  The  wordy  war- 
fare of  that  afternoon  seemed  in  that  hour  as  far  behind  him 
as  the  earlier  scenes  of  violence  and  hate  and  wrong  in  which, 
in  that  same  spot,  he  had  borne  a  part.  A  little  wearied,  but 
quiet  again  and  steady  with  his  old  sense  of  planning  for  the 
next  thing,  he  sat  and  thought. 

Almost  at  the  outset,  with  his  former  clearness  of  vision, 
he  realized  what  he  had  taken  time  to  realize,  that  here 
were  none  concerned  save  Althea  and  himself.  The  Hey- 
rouns  who  had  stirred  him  to  conflict  with  their  insults,  on 
whom  he  had  avenged  himself,  holding  to  what  he  had  won, 
he  put  out  of  the  question.  Between  Althea  and  himself, 
he  sought  to  find  and  do  the  thing  that  was  right. 

Moments  of  wavering  resolution,  of  battling  desires,  he 
lived  through  in  that  hour.    It  were  a  fine  thing,  the  prac- 


i 


338  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

tical  part  in  him  cried  out,  to  be  master  of  that  great  estate, 
to  be  the  husband,  even  as  in  his  boyish  dreams  he  had 
planned,  of  a  rich  heiress.  He  could  do  much  with  that 
fortune,  in  the  shire,  in  the  country  itself,  perhaps.  He 
tingled  with  the  sense  of  endless  power.  At  one  and  twenty, 
penniless  and  unfriended,  he  had  yet  contrived  to  accomplish 
something.  He  knew  himself  master  of  his  soldier's  craft, 
and  master  of  the  knowledge  of  himself.  Ten  years  hence, 
with  that  fortune,  with  the  friends  and  alliances  that  he 
might  win,  whither  might  he  not  have  attained?  Pinnacle 
by  pinnacle  he  reared  his  air  castles  of  ambition  for  himself, 
for  the  sons  of  his  blood  that  should  succeed  him,  and  he 
dashed  all  to  earth  with  a  bitter  cry. 

"God!    If  I  did  not  love  her!" 

If  it  were  any  other  girl  cast  thus  into  his  arms,  with  such 
a  fortune,  he  knew  that  his  way  were  easy.  After  all,  he  would 
be  as  good  a  husband,  as  faithful,  as  indulgent,  as  courteous 
as  the  run  of  men.  But  this  girl,  of  all  the  world,  was  the 
girl  he  loved.  It  were  torture  to  live  beside  her  day  by 
day,  yet  barred  from  her  love,  to  watch  her  patient  effort  to 
give  from  duty  what  she,  in  her  perfect  honesty,  could  give 
only  of  free  will.  With  change  of  mood,  he  cursed  the  for- 
tune. If  only  it  were  between  them  as  it  had  been  at  Clay- 
bourne  !  If  she  were  still  the  little  penniless  lass  without  a 
friend  save  him,  somehow,  with  God's  help,  he  would  have 
won  her  to  love  him. 

But  now  —  well,  he  must  face  the  hard  facts.  There  was 
the  fortune,  which  he  would  not  possess  without  the  girl's 
love.  There  was  the  girl,  whose  love  he  could  not  win  while 
she  held  that  fortune.  He  laughed,  albeit  sadly,  at  the  per- 
verseness  of  his  dilemma.  Softened  by  his  laughter,  he  began 
to  think  only  of  the  girl,  and  on  the  sudden  he  saw  aright. 
Poor  little  lass !  The  one  course  for  the  man  that  loved  her 
truly  was  to  leave  her  free.     That  by  so  doing  he  would  please 


BY  RIGHT  OF  HIS  WIPE  339 

the  Heyrouns,  made  no  difference.  It  was  her  happiness 
for  which  he  planned.  The  matter  of  divorce  was  hateful, 
but  it  might  be  so  handled  as  to  do  her  little  scath.  In  a 
year  or  two  she  would  have  forgotten,  and  she  was  so  young, 
and  so  dear,  no  doubt  the  right  man  would  come  to  wed  her. 

"But  Heaven  forbid  that  ever  I  meet  with  himl"  Jock 
muttered. 

Now  that  he  knew  what  was  to  do,  he  went  about  it  swiftly. 
He  called  for  ink  and  pen  and  paper,  and  taking  in  this  a  hint 
from  Tevery,  set  himself  to  write  a  letter  which  should  be 
given  to  Althea  after  he  was  gone.  For  both  their  sakes, 
he  would  not  venture  a  spoken  farewell.  Two  letters  he 
wrote  slowly,  with  much  nibbling  of  the  pen,  and  tore  to  frag- 
ments. Then  he  bethought  himself,  and  driving  his  pen 
swiftly,  wrote  a  few  lines. 

"  On  the  morrow,"  he  bade  the  steward,  who  came  in  answer 
to  his  summons,  "send  this  letter  to  Mr.  Heyroun  at  Dray- 
cote.  And  tell  your  mistress,  an  she  ask  of  me,  that  I  am 
called  hence  in  haste  on  a  matter  that  concerns  us  both." 

When  he  had  dismissed  the  steward,  he  took  his  cloak  and 
his  sword,  his  whole  fortune  now,  he  realized,  and  went  from 
the  house  that  had  been  his  for  one  little  day.  In  the  stable 
he  roused  up  a  groom  and  bade  saddle  one  of  the  hackneys, 
and  when  the  task  was  done,  he  mounted  and  through  the 
postern  gate  rode  slowly  forth  into  the  lane  that  led  to  Herons- 
wood.  Just  beyond  the  paddock  the  lane  breasted  a  bit  of 
steeper  ground,  and  across  the  roofs  of  the  outbuildings  he 
could  see,  when  he  turned  in  his  saddle,  the  bulk  of  Gray- 
stones  tower  against  the  starset  sky.  In  one  window  he 
saw  that  a  dim  candle  burned,  and  he  knew  it  for  the  window 
of  the  great  chamber  where  his  wife  lay. 

So  far  upon  his  road  he  had  still  a  moment  to  battle  with 
himself.  "  But  I  love  her  !"  he  repeated,  as  if  the  words  were 
a  charm,  the  while  he  struggled  with  his  own  passions  that  he 


340  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

boasted  to  have  mastered.     "For  love's  sake,  I  must  leave 
her  to  the  love  that  will  one  day  come." 

Steadied  once  more,  he  looked  to  the  dim  light  in  the  distant 
window.  "God  keep  you,  dear  heart!"  he  muttered,  and 
with  such  farewell  turned  his  back,  for  the  last  time,  upon  the 
house  of  Graystones. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  LAST  RETUBNINQ 

On  so  small  a  trifle  as  a  netted  purse  of  the  value  of  six- 
pence, did  Jock  Hetherington's  fortunes  at  this,  the  greatest 
crisis  of  his  life,  depend.  The  purse  lay  on  the  table  in  the 
chamber  that  Rafe  Heyroun  had  occupied  at  Graystones,  and 
Rafe  never  missed  it  till  he  had  escorted  his  raging  father  and 
his  tearful  mother  some  miles  upon  their  journey  into  Essex. 
Then,  when  they  stopped  for  supper,  he  discovered  his  loss 
and  was  troubled.  Valueless  though  it  might  be  in  another's 
sight,  he  valued  the  purse  because  it  had  been  painfully  netted 
for  him  by  his  small  daughter  Eleanor,  and  he  was  loath  to 
lose  it.  On  the  instant  he  changed  his  plan.  He  would 
leave  his  parents  to  finish  their  journey  alone,  and  would  him- 
self return  to  Graystones,  get  his  purse,  and  push  on  that 
same  evening  to  Draycote. 

Accordingly,  not  five  minutes  after  Jock  had  left  Gray- 
stones by  the  postern  gate,  riding  north,  Rafe  came  trotting 
up  the  lane  from  the  south,  and  passing  through  the  gate- 
house, drew  rein  in  the  stable-court.  As  it  was  past  ten  of 
the  clock,  he  wondered  a  little  to  find  the  grooms  astir,  but  he 
held  it  no  longer  his  business  to  ask  questions  in  that  house- 
hold, so  he  tossed  his  bridle  to  the  nearest  man,  and,  without 
parley,  headed  for  the  hall. 

The  passage  thither  was  short,  but  it  was  long  enough  to 
give  Rafe  time  to  ask  himself  several  disturbing  questions; 

m 


342  THE  FAIR   MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

First,  what  manner  of  mad  man  would  he  be  thought,  to 
rouse  up  a  decent  household  at  that  ungodly  hour,  because 
he  wanted  a  trifle  such  as  the  little  purse  would  seem  to  an- 
other? Second,  parting  on  such  terms  as  he  had  parted  with 
Jock,  were  it  not  better  if  he  had  stayed  away  from  Graystones 
for  a  time  ?  Third,  and  most  persistent,  what  was  the  reason, 
masked,  yet  present  to  his  consciousness,  beneath  the  pretext 
of  recovering  the  purse,  that  brought  him  thither  ? 

Almost  as  soon  as  he  set  foot  in  the  hall,  Rafe  got  an  an- 
swer to  this  last  question,  for  the  old  steward  came  hastening 
to  him,  and  in  his  hand  he  bore  a  letter.  "  Mr.  Hetherington 
bade  send  this  unto  you,  sir,  in  the  morning,"  the  steward 
explained.  "Sure,  to  save  twelve  hours  and  more  and  spare 
horseflesh  is  good  husbandry." 

Rafe  gazed  upon  the  letter.  "Where  is  Mr.  Hethering- 
ton?" he  asked. 

"Gone,  sir.  Rode  hence  a  quarter  hour  ago,"  the  old  man 
answered,  and  asked  for  further  commands,  and  getting  an 
absent  reply,  went  from  the  room. 

Rafe  stood  alone  in  the  hall,  and  for  a  moment  half  dreaded 
to  open  the  letter.  He  was  fairly  startled  by  the  aptness  of 
his  coming  at  that  hour,  and  with  uneasiness  he  recalled  the 
stricken  face  that  Jock  had  turned  to  him.  Then,  hearten- 
ing himself  by  deliberate  and  wonted  action,  he  sat  down  at 
the  table,  drew  the  candle  nearer,  and  opening  the  letter, 
read:  — 

"  GrooD  SiE :  Since  our  partinge  I  have  bethoghte  me,  and  having  in 
mind  the  youthe  of  her  to  whom  I  am  wedded  and  her  deare  and  tender 
herte,  and  in  what  rude  fashion  shee  was  constraind  to  bee  wife  unto  me 
whom  shee  doth  nott  affection,  I  holde  it  justice  that  shee  have  her  freedome. 
I  toke  her  to  mee  but  to  do  her  sarvice  in  her  nede,  thoughe  gladly  I 
wold  have  taken  herr  for  othere  cause,  but  of  this  shee  knoweth  not,  and 
(I  thanke  God!  )  I  cau  rendere  her  backe  unto  you,  even  as  shee  came  unto 
mee.  Get  the  divorce  on  what  groundes  may  bee  easiest  for  her.  I  doe 
submitt  mee  in  this  entirely  to  youre  guidence^  \  9ffi  goeing  uiitQ  Clftyborn 


THE  LAST  RETURNING  343 

in  Cambrigschir,  where  you  may  sende  your  commandes  unto  me.  I  shall, 
of  necessitey,  take  a  horse  from  her  stable  to  fitt  me  for  the  journey. 

"  Youre  obediente  sarvent 

"JoK  Hbddrintonb. 

"  GoDE  Sir  :  Since  you  have  been  a  friende  unto  mee,  as  I  truely  beleve, 
I  praye  you  bidd  her  farewel  as  from  me,  for  I  cannott  write  itt,  and  doe 
you  be  kinds  unto  her  and  cherishe  her,  for  newer  was  there  dearer 
woman." 

There,  abruptly,  the  letter  ended.  Rafe  turned  the  paper 
in  his  hands  and  frowned.  At  the  first  line,  remembering 
Jock's  face,  he  had  felt  a  sharp  pity  for  him,  and  then  as  he 
read  on,  he  had  asked  the  cynical  question:  What  does  the 
lad  hope  to  gain  by  this  throw?  But  now  as  he  reviewed 
the  letter,  he  saw  what  wrong  that  question  did  to  Jock  and 
to  his  own  heart. 

Essentially,  spite  of  the  shrewdness  on  which  he  prided 
himself  in  dealing  with  a  foeman,  Jock  was  honest.  Rafe 
knew  that  well,  and,  in  any  case,  he  knew  that  Jock's 
mind  was  not  of  the  audacious  type  that  would  hazard  a  sure 
advantage  on  the  desperate  chance  of  greater  gain.  If  dis- 
honest, the  letter  was  not  like  Jock.  If  honest,  it  was  a  natural 
manifestation  of  the  simplicity  that  more  than  once  he  had 
shown,  boylike,  in  dealing  with  people  and  with  circum- 
stances to  which  he  was  not  accustomed.  The  letter  was 
honest,  Rafe  decided,  and,  like  a  boy  and  a  lovable  boy,  Jock 
had  done  the  mad  and  impossible  thing  that  the  letter  set 
forth.  In  the  hour  of  his  victory  he  had  yielded  all,  the 
estate  and  the  girl,  and  for  the  girl's  sake  had  left  the 
mastery  of  the  hard-fought  field  to  his  beaten  enemies, 
the  Heyrouns. 

But  it  was  in  the  hands  of  the  black  Draycote  Heyroun 
that,  at  that  hour,  rested  the  responsibiUty  for  action,  good 
or  ill.  In  the  same  room  that  had  witnessed  Jock's  struggle 
scarce  an  hour  before,  Rafe  sat  and  fought  the  same  battle. 


344  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

For  Rafe  was  human,  and  even  as  Jock  had  felt  it,  he  felt  the 
lust  of  possession. 

Nimble  witted,  he  sketched  the  future,  conning  the  ways 
and  means  even  more  rapidly  than  Jock  had  conned  them. 
He  had  but  to  obey  Jock's  instructions,  signed  with  Jock's 
name.  He  need  speak  but  a  word  to  Althea,  who  had  her 
share  of  the  high  temper  of  the  Heyrouns,  and  she  would 
strive  with  all  her  will  to  forget  the  man  that  once  had  been 
called  her  husband.  With  Inchcome's  aid,  with  Jock's  acqui- 
escence, he  could  soon  procure  the  divorce.  Then,  with  a 
little  tact,  he  who  had  always  been  kind  to  Althea  could  work 
his  will  with  her.  He  was  Heyroun  of  Heronswood  now,  a 
rich  man,  the  head  of  the  family.  As  a  matter  of  course,  it 
would  be  he,  not  his  foolish,  rash  father  who  would  be  guar- 
dian of  the  young  heiress.  He  might,  as  his  parents  in- 
stantly had  planned,  marry  her  to  his  brother  Phil,  who,  as 
he  had  always  done,  would  do  his  brother's  bidding  now,  in 
the  ordering  of  his  wife's  estate,  or  he  might,  soaring  higher, 
make  a  great  alliance  for  the  girl,  an  alliance  that  should  be 
helpful  to  his  own  ambitions. 

So  Rafe  planned,  rearing  his  air  castles  higher  and  higher, 
and  then  stopped,  shamed,  for  he  saw  again  Jock's  stricken 
face.  The  boy  loved  Althea.  That  Rafe  had  guessed  al- 
ready, that  he  knew  now,  with  the  piteous  letter  spread  before 
him.  He  did  not  wish  to  think  in  that  direction,  but  against 
his  will  his  mind  strayed  back  along  the  happenings  of  the 
last  weeks.  His  wife  had  sent  Althea  forth  from  Draycote, 
—  and  Jock  had  come  to  her  aid,  and  tended  her  and  served 
her,  ay,  and  more,  had  delivered  himself  up  to  Wogan's  bru- 
tality, only  to  buy  her  protection.  His  kinsfolk,  while  he 
dallied  in  London  and  forgot  Althea,  had  shamed  her  and 
abused  her  and  cast  her  forth,  and  again  it  was  Jock  that  had 
stood  forth  to  guard  her ;  it  was  Jock,  as  he  knew  from  Verney 
Glaybourne,  that  had    risked   the   gibbet,  to  win  the   girl 


THE  LAST  EETUENING  345 

succor.  Always,  at  every  turning  in  the  girl's  pitiful  little 
history,  he  met  Jock  Hetherington. 

"  Once  already  I  did  him  foul  wrong  in  my  thought,  when 
I  marred  his  wooing  there  at  Draycote,"  muttered  Rafe. 
"Sure,  I  owe  him  something  now  in  way  of  recompense.  A 
wildfire  on  the  rogue !  Were  I  not  a  fool  to  have  a  liking 
unto  him,  I  should  find  matters  easier." 

Again  Rafe  scanned  the  letter.  Yes,  the  boy  loved  her,  of 
that  there  was  no  question,  and  having  sacrificed  much  for 
her,  he  now  stood  ready  to  sacrifice  all.  "Since  you  have 
been  a  friende  unto  mee,  as  I  truely  beleve  — "  Rafe  caught 
the  phrase  in  the  postscript  once  again,  and  he  smote  his  fist 
upon  the  table.  "Word  o'  truth!"  he  almost  groaned. 
"Since  the  youngster  has  been  honest,  I  must  for  shame's 
sake  be  honest,  too." 

With  a  hunted  feeling  that  presently  his  shred  of  Puritan 
conscience  would  take  the  upper  hand  of  him,  and,  forbidding 
him  to  cast  a  fortune  out  at  the  window,  would  make  him  act 
for  his  own  profit  and  the  profit  of  his  family,  Rafe  sprang  to 
his  feet,  and  catching  up  the  letter  and  the  candle,  swung 
himself  up  the  stairs,  two  steps  at  a  time.  "Let  the  girl 
decide!"  he  silenced  grumbling  conscience.  "A  plague  upon 
it,  let  the  girl  herself  decide !" 

Without  stay,  he  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  great  cham- 
ber. He  could  not  but  mark  that,  at  the  sound  of  his  heavy 
tread  in  the  passage,  swift  steps  came  hurrying  to  the  door, 
and  through  the  panel  he  caught  Althea's  tremulous  whis- 
per, "Jock !    Is  it  thou,  indeed?" 

"'Tis  your  cousin  Rafe,"  he  answered.  "Open  to  me, 
child!" 

He  heard  the  bolt  drawn  clattering  from  its  place,  and  next 
moment,  in  the  frame  of  the  doorway,  Althea  stood  be- 
fore him.  She  had  her  cloak  wrapped  about  her;  her  hair 
was  unbound,  and  her  feet  were  bare.    Of  this  disorder  she 


346  THE  FAIR  MAID  OP  GRAYSTONES 

seemed  unconscious.  Arms  crossed  upon  her  breast  and 
cheeks  white,  she  fronted  him. 

"It  is  ill  news  —  it  is  ill  news  of  Jockl"  she  formed  the 
words  with  difficulty. 

"That  is  as  it  may  be,"  Rafe  answered.  "Do  you  look 
upon  this  letter  and  judge  for  yourself." 

She  snatched  the  letter  from  him,  and  bending  to  the  can- 
dlelight, read  it  through.  He  watched  her  face  as  she  read, 
and  watching,  from  his  heart  thanked  God  that  he  had  had 
that  night  the  strength  to  play  the  true  man. 

She  dropped  the  letter.  For  his  eyes  she  tried  an  instant 
to  play  the  required  scene  of  wounded  pride,  but  her  set  voice 
broke  in  the  effort  and  she  buried  her  head  in  her  hands  with 
a  long  wail :   "  He  has  left  me !    Oh,  Jock !    My  Jock  V 

Rafe  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  put  her  into  the  nearest 
chair,  where  she  sat  with  head  drooping  and  her  hair  fallen 
about  her  face,  and  fought  for  self-mastery,  and  fought  in 
vain. 

"Then  it  is  true  that  you  do  love  this  lad  Hetherington?" 
Rafe  asked. 

"Ah,  God  knows  I  dol"  sobbed  Althea. 

Rafe's  dark  eyes  twinkled.  "Piously  spoke  I"  said  he, 
"  but,  my  child,  were  it  not  more  to  the  purpose  if  Jock  Heth- 
erington  knew  it  ?  " 

For  a  moment  she  looked  at  him  in  blank  amazement. 
Then  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  caught  him  by  the  arm. 
"Cousin  Rafe!  Rafe!  What  is  it  that  you  mean?  Oh, 
dear  Rafe !    Do  you  mean  that  he  loves  me?" 

So  quickly  had  the  tragedy  turned  to  comedy  that,  in  Kis 
own  despite,  Rafe  laughed.  "A  man  does  not  write  in  such 
fashion,  child,  nor  yield  up  so  much  unless  he  love  a  woman. 
What  have  you  done  to  the  lad  that  he  holds  you  are  not 
affectioned  unto  him?" 

She  hung  her  head.    "  He  said  —  he  said  our  marriage  was 


THE  LAST  RETURNING  347 

an  expedient  unless  I  willed  it  otherwise  —  and  I  —  and  I  — 
When  I  did  not  know  he  loved  me  —  I  durst  not  say  the 
word.  I  pray  you,  do  not  laugh  at  me,  kinsman !  I  was  so 
fain  to  believe  he  loved  me  —  that  I  dared  not  believe  it  — 
and  then  —  and  then — "  She  broke  down  at  that  point, 
poor  child !  "  Oh,  if  my  mother  had  but  lived,  she  would 
have  understood !"  she  cried  with  fresh  weeping. 

Rafe  patted  her  head.  "Come,  come!"  said  he.  "In  a 
scant  ten  years  my  own  Nell  will  be  telling  me  just  such  tales." 
He  said  it,  half  laughing,  to  cheer  her,  but  when  once  he  had 
spoken  the  words,  he  felt  their 'sense  strike  home,  and  think- 
ing on  his  own  little  daughter,  he  gave  thanks  very  humbly 
that  he  had  dealt  fairly  by  this  older  lass.  "We'll  fetch 
Yorkshire  back  to  you,"  he  promised  in  a  voice  that  of  a 
sudden  grew  tender.     "He  cannot  have  ridden  far." 

Said  Althea,  with  a  promptness  of  resolution  that  became 
a  Heyroun,  "Then  I  myself  will  ride  after  him!" 

"Tut,  tut !"  said  Rafe,  for  now  that  he  had  done  the  major 
mischief,  he  was  willing  to  let  Puritan  conscience  be  heard  on 
a  matter  of  propriety.  "You  cannot  go  tracing  the  high- 
ways for  the  rascal.     You're  mistress  of  Graystones." 

"A  plague  upon  Graystones!"  said  Althea,  with  spirit. 
"  Ere  ever  I  was  mistress  of  Graystones,  I  was  Jock  Hether- 
ington's  wife.  Get  you  gone  to  the  stables,  cousin,  and 
bid  them  saddle  me  a  horse.  I  am  going  to  don  my 
clothes." 

At  that  hint  Rafe  departed  in  short  order,  but,  mindful  of 
the  time  that  it  took  Isabel  to  don  her  riding  gear,  made  no 
undue  haste  in  having  a  horse  saddled  for  Althea.  In  this 
he  reckoned  without  his  host,  for  before  the  last  buckle  was 
fastened  Althea  came  running  into  the  stableyard,  clad  in  an 
old  gown  and  cloak,  and  with  her  hair  hastily  bound  with  a 
ribbon.  She  was  into  her  saddle  and  off  almost  in  an  instant, 
it  seemed,  but  she  had  taken  time  for  a  glance  into  the  stable. 


348  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONES 

When  Rafe  came  up  with  her  at  the  Uttle  hill  in  the  lane,  he 
found  her  half  laughing,  half  crying. 

"Did  you  note  it?"  she  asked  him.  "He  has  taken  the 
sorriest  nag  in  all  the  stable  —  and  he  was  in  love  with  those 
horses,  my  poor,  stupid  lad !" 

Rafe  pondered  on  the  divine  illogicalness  of  Althea,  in  that 
she  called  Jock  stupid  for  having  much  the  same  fears  and 
scruples  that  she  herself  had  had,  but  wisely  he  said  no  more 
than :  "  The  better  for  us !  If  he  has  taken  a  mean  horse,  he 
will  ride  the  slower." 

With  this  hope  to  spur  them,  the  girl  and  the  man  rode 
forward  recklessly.  By  good  hap  the  moon  was  now  risen,  so 
that  they  had  clear  light  to  aid  them,  while  Jock,  setting  forth 
in  the  early  evening,  must  have  had  thick  darkness  at  the 
outset  and  so  have  ridden  slowly.  They  cantered  through 
the  sleeping  village  of  Heronswood,  with  a  thump  of  hoofs 
on  the  rimy  ground  that  caused  in  their  wake  a  clang- 
ing open  of  casements.  They  swung  through  the  fields  be- 
yond, and  scattered  the  chill  waters  of  a  ford.  They  scudded 
through  a  dark  reach  of  wood  and  beyond,  a  clear  defined 
track,  they  saw  the  road  winding  across  a  common,  and 
midway  of  the  road  a  riderless  horse,  and  a  man  dismounted 
beside  it. 

"  There's  our  lad,  for  a  hundred  pound ! "  said  Rafe.  "  Some- 
thing has  gone  wrong  with  his  horse's  gear,  for  which  let  us 
praise  Heaven!" 

They  rode  a  little  nearer,  and  then,  from  the  dismounted 
rider,  came  a  suspicious  hail.  "Who  goes  there?"  The 
voice  was  Jock's  voice,  and  his  suspicion,  considering  his  own 
behavior  on  Claybourne  common,  was  natural. 

"Friends!"  Rafe  called  back,  and  on  impulse  reined  in 
his  horse.  "  I  go  now  to  Draycote.  Give  you  good  night, 
Althea." 

Said  Althea,  with  hand  outstretched :  "  Rafe,  I  shall  never 


THE  LAST  RETURNING  349 

forget  this.  Will  you  "  —  she  faltered  —  "  will  you  bear  my 
dear  love  unto  Isabel?" 

Rafe  kissed  her  hand,  and  turned  and  rode  away,  and 
Althea,  with  sudden  misgiving,  now  that  he  was  gone,  went 
forward  at  a  footpace.  So  near  had  she  now  approached 
that  she  could  recognize  Jock's  features,  and  he  had  recog- 
nized her. 

"Althea!"  he  gave  a  low  cry. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  and  reined  in  her  horse  beside  him. 

In  shy,  scared  silence,  they  eyed  each  other.  "I've  been 
mending  of  my  girth,"  he  said  foolishly. 

"Yes,  I  see,"  she  stammered;  and  then,  taking  courage, 
"How  far  do  we  ride  this  night,  Jock?" 

He  looked  at  her.  He  recognized  her  gown  and  her  cloak, 
the  same  in  which  she  had  trudged  the  highway  with 
him.  If  she  had  cared  enough  to  keep  those  poor  rags !  He 
went  to  her  stirrup.  "  You  are  not  going  to  ride  with  me  ?  " 
he  asked  incredulously. 

She  nodded.  "Oh,  Jock!  Wherein  have  I  faulted  or 
failed  you  that  you  would  have  gone  and  left  me  behind  — 
I  that  am  your  wife  —  your  wife  that  loves  you !" 

Suddenly,  and  the  sight  affrighted  her,  he  dropped  his 
head  against  her  knee,  like  a  little  lad,  and  hid  his  face  in 
the  folds  of  her  skirt.  "Do  you  mean  that?"  he  whispered. 
"You  do  not  say  that  for  duty  or — " 

"Duty?"  cried  Althea.  "Do  you  think  I  would  post  six 
miles  after  any  man  and  beg  him  of  his  love  to  return  unto 
me  —  for  duty  ?  Jock  !  Oh,  my  love !  can  you  not  under- 
stand?" Her  voice  broke  as  she  said  the  words.  She  bent 
and  laid  her  arm  about  his  neck.  "  Come,  dear  I  Let  us  ride 
home." 

He  lifted  his  face  at  last,  and  caught  her  hands,  and  drew 
her  down  so  that  he  might  kiss  her  lips.  He  said  no  word, 
but  in  the  moonlight  she  saw  that  that  keen  face  of  his  was 


350  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  GRAYSTONE 

broken  and  softened  as  she  had  never  looked  to  see  it  and 
that  his  eyes  were  wet. 

In  silence  still  he  mounted  his  horse,  and  side  by  side  they 
rode  back  toward  Graystones.  They  had  passed  Heronswood 
ere  they  found  speech,  and  half  shamed  at  their  previous 
emotion,  half  conscious  that  soon  they  should  have  sweeter 
leisure  for  all  that  was  to  say,  they  talked  of  slight,  foolish 
matters.  Steadied  to  something  like  their  wonted  selves,  they 
set  foot  at  last  in  the  hall  at  Graystones.  On  the  table  can- 
dles burned,  and  the  fire,  tended  against  their  coming,  blazed 
merrily,  and  the  butler,  officious  in  his  new  zeal,  bustled  in 
with  a  tankard  of  burnt  wine  to  comfort  the  young  mistress 
after  her  cold  ride. 

When  the  man  had  gone,  they  sat  them  down  on  the  raised 
hearth  with  the  tankard  between  them.  On  a  common 
impulse  they  had  sought  that  seat,  and  they  laughed,  realiz- 
ing how  it  came  to  pass. 

"You  remember  that  first  night?"  said  Althea. 

"Ay,"  said  Jock,  "when  you  found  me  lying  along  the 
pantry  floor  in  a  swoon." 

"  And  we  sat  on  the  kitchen  hearth,  much  as  we  sit  now," 
said  Althea,  "  and  ate  the  parson's  pasty.  We've  come  a  long 
journey  since  that  night,  Jock." 

He  nodded,  and  then  he  put  the  tankard  from  its  place 
between  them,  and  moving  nearer,  laid  his  arm  about  the 
girl.  She  nestled  unresisting  against  his  shoulder.  "  How 
good  the  world  has  been  to  usl"  she  whispered. 

At  that  moment  the  statement  did  not  seem  to  him 
absurd.  "We'll  do  good  in  it,"  he  said  soberly.  "You've 
a  great  fortune,  Althea." 

"  'Tis  yours,"  she  said.  "  You  are  the  master  of  Gray- 
stones, my  husband  —  master  of  all  that  is  mine  —  and 
master  of  me." 

"  But  I  don't  deserve  you,  sweetheart,"  he  whispered. 


THE  LAST  RETURNING  351 

"  I  that  made  you  come  out  to  seek  me  —  that  was  such  a 
fool—" 

"  Oh,  hush !"  she  bade.  "And  didn't  Rafe  have  to  come 
teach  me  as  if  'twere  my  hornbook,  that  you  were  truly 
loving  me  all  the  while ! " 

She  spoke  with  her  old  laughter,  albeit  tremulous,  and  he 
kissed  her,  laughing,  and  held  her  close,  with  his  cheek 
against  her  hair.  Thus  they  sat  in  silence,  while  round 
them  the  firelight  wavered  on  the  dark  walls  and  the  vaulted 
roof  of  what  was  now  their  hall,  the  heart  of  the  home  that 
should  henceforth  be  theirs  and  their  children's  after  them. 


y-S^Ql-\Q 


A     000  844  494     5 


